Seven Letter Words
by star
Summary: Revenge is a seven letter word, hence the title. Jackson tries to get his revenge on Lisa and complications ensue. The largest of them is a notebook that is practically Jackson's diary, and of course... there's Lisa to contend with.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye, Jackson Rippner, etc etc. I mean, I don't own his character, anyways. I do own this crazy little story.

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**Chapter 1**

Jackson Rippner slowly and cautiously opened his eyes. He was surrounded by sea-green. Sea-green trim on the walls. Sea-green window shades. Even the thin hospital blankets on top of him were sea-green. It was sickening. And it was all Lisa's fault. Jackson felt his stomach contract at the thought of her, and then gave a little moan of pain. The bullet wounds still hadn't completely healed, and neither had the lovely puncture in his thigh, or the stab in his trachea.

Dr. Jones, a tall, bald man, walked into the room, or more shuffled. He looked cautiously down at Jackson and blinked his large, mouse-like eyes. Jackson blinked back. He seriously considered screaming in agony, to see what Jones would do, but decided against it as a sharp pain came from his throat. Finally, after a moment's stare-down, Dr. Jones bent and began tending to Jackson's many different wounds.

Gritting his teeth, and cursing Lisa Reisart to hell, Jackson let his pain soaked mind rest on one throbbing thought: Revenge. He hated the feel of this annoying doctor replacing the bandages on his wounds, the feel of having to utterly depend on this one timid doctor. Where was his Company now? Did they think he was dead? _Probably_, he thought angrily. They would definitely have taken him out of this awful hospital by now, if they knew he was alive. They wouldn't even bother looking for him if they thought he was dead.

Jackson banished these thoughts from his mind. It was much more… pleasing to think of Lisa. _And productive_, he told himself firmly. He had been in the hospital for about a month and a half now, and had spent that first month in a coma. The last two weeks had been spent in and out of sleep. Jackson realized suddenly that he didn't even know how he had got to the hospital.

"Who brought me to this damned place?" he demanded of the startled doctor.

Doctor Jones scratched his head and looked nervously down at his patient. He added a final touch to the bandage on Jackson's leg, and stood. Painfully slowly, he said, "Well… You were in an ambulance, but with you was… I think it was a young girl, about 27 years old…" the doctor paused, staring out the window. A leafy green tree branch brushed against the window, completely disguising the fact that it was the middle of September. In Miami, there was only two seasons: spring or summer.

"Oh! You were asking me a question?" the doctor looked around the room, confused, almost questioning where he was. Jackson nodded impatiently from beside him. "Right… right, who brought you here… Well, she was… What _was_ her name…? Oh yes, young lady under the name of Lisa Reisart. She visited you once; last week… you were asleep…" Doctor Jones dreamily meandered out of the room.

Jackson's voice stopped him just before he could open the door. "Could I have some paper and something to write with?"

At first, writing had been painful, and Jackson could barely grip the pen that he had been supplied with. But slowly his hand melded to the shape of the pen and he began to write. It was a letter to Lisa.

He listed the many ways he would kill her, revenge a sweet thought that lingered in his mind and filled it completely. After three pages, he had exhausted his causes of death, and began writing the actual letter to Lisa. His mind had begun to fill with questions about why she had visited him.

Weeks faded into months, and Jackson's body slowly began to heal. Almost every day, he could be found writing in that thick notebook Doctor Jones had provided him with. Jackson Rippner never received any visits, any flowers, any cards. He just wrote and wrote. Finally, two months had passed, and he was to be discharged that day. Jackson stopped and skimmed through the 120-some odd pages he had written.

Somewhere along the way, what had started out as a letter of violent, twisted revenge had become a letter of obsession. Jackson had described in detail each moment he had spent watching Lisa before the events of the Red Eye, had described her appearance countless times. His letter had practically become a love note, and Jackson felt disgusted. He had spent the last two months writing, planning revenge, and the only proof he had of this was this stupid, useless notebook? On the front cover was Lisa's address, printed neatly, as Jackson had planned on sending her this lovely token of his affection. But now that it really was just that, he felt sick and threw the whole thing into the trash.

A short, impatient-looking nurse stepped into Jackson's room. "You're free to leave today, sir. I understand that you don't have any clothing, and so we've provided you with these." She held out a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt in sea-green. Jackson stifled his moan, took the clothing, and gave a curt nod to the nurse. He gathered his wallet, the only thing that had been salvaged from his old clothes, and headed for the bathroom.

Standing outside and staring up at the gleaming building that he had just spent the past three months of his life in, Jackson let relief flood his body. Never again, a little voice whispered in his mind. He never would go back to his old job. He never could. He was expected to be dead, and he was expected to stay dead.

Jackson surveyed the parking lot for some sign that his company believed him to be alive and were waiting for him, but found none. He caught a taxi and headed towards an area of apartments he knew to be near Lisa's house. Exactly 2 hours later, Mr. Rippner was the proud renter of an apartment, had an entire wardrobe of new clothes (none in the sea-green color he had come to despise) and revenge had begun in earnest.

Meanwhile, Room 213 was being cleaned and prepared for another patient. Jackson had left quite a mess behind in his hurry to leave the hospital, and the cleaning staff was taking longer than usual. The bag of garbage was so heavy that it split open, and first to spill out was Jackson's precious notebook. A hurried maid bent and picked it up, saw the address written on the cover, and seized the excuse to get away from her work. She went into the office down the hall and had the notebook mailed. Happy that she had done her part in favoring mankind, she returned to her work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lisa Reisart grabbed her keys and headed out to her car. She stood warily outside of the glassy Luxe Atlantic doors, and studied the parking lot. It was a habit. She finally sighted her old blue Cadillac and began hurriedly towards it. Unconsciously, she heaved a sigh of relief upon unlocking the doors and sliding inside.

It had been like this, the jumpiness, the constant feeling as if she was being watched, since him. As soon as these thoughts entered Lisa's head, she wanted to shake them out again, because with them came Jackson's face. For some odd reason, she had taken to imaging that he was with her throughout the day, and now she imagined him sitting next to her in the car. He would lean his chocolate-brown head back and watch her from slightly lowered lids, and smirk and say, "_Feeling jumpy?_"

Lisa snapped at him. "Shut up, _Jack_. You're going to jail, and you'll never see me again." She then felt stupid for talking to herself, and briefly wondered if she was going crazy. Why _had_ she visited him while he was in the hospital? Why had she even bothered to save his life, to come with him to the hospital? Why? It should have been enough to simply know he was alive. Seeing him was torture.

He had somehow managed to stay awake halfway through the ride to the hospital, and when his eyes had finally closed, Lisa had found herself praying that he wouldn't die. _Why?_ It was the question she had asked herself a million times, and she hated him for it. She told herself it was because she hadn't wanted him to escape. He didn't deserve to die. He deserved to be punished, to be hurt as much as he had hurt others. And that's why she refused to let him escape his punishment through death.

But she had reached the hospital and immediately left for the hotel, upon receiving calls from an agitated Cynthia, and something had happened. Instead of being placed in the locked ward, where he belonged, Jackson had been placed in a normal room, free of cameras and locks and things people like Jackson should be surrounded by.

Maybe it was simply the incompetence of the hospital staff. Maybe it was something worse. Either way, two weeks after Jackson had arrived; an obituary appeared in the newspaper with Jackson's name on it. Lisa should know. She had been asked to write it herself, but declined. She had felt vaguely disappointed that Jackson had escaped, but had been relieved all the same.

The small announcement was submitted to the newspaper the same day as Jackson's "death". Dr. Jones, who had sent it, had returned to the hospital to find out that he had committed a horrible mistake: Mr. Rippner was, in fact, not dead, and simply in a coma. How in the world had he been mistaken for dead? The truth was, another clumsy doctor had tripped over the heart monitor's cord and pressed some random button. The machine had let off a noise like a vacuum cleaner, and Jackson Rippner was pronounced dead at 10:38 a.m. Ten minutes later, the announcement was being sent, and Jackson was pronounced alive. Dr. Jones returned to find a miracle: he still had his job.

In order to cover up this colossal mistake, Jackson was allowed free hospitalization until he recovered.

It's amazing how things can move on so quickly, leaving practically no remnant of evidence behind. In two weeks, the Miami police already had bigger things to deal with, and it seemed as if Lisa, her father, and Cynthia were the only people who even remembered what had happened. Jackson slept on, safe in his coma, separated from the outside world, and the fact that he wasn't recognized as a felon went unnoticed. And that's how he had managed to simply walk straight out from the hospital without so much as a "By your leave."

Lisa, of course, didn't know he had left yet. When she had visited Jackson, upon hearing that he was alive, he had been asleep, and she assumed that upon his recovery he would be shipped to the nearest penitentiary. The police chief himself had assured her that this would happen. Never mind that she had not seen said police chief since he made that statement. Lisa believed it would happen because she wanted to.

Deep in a little corner of her mind, she knew, though. She knew. It would take more than the Miami police chief's word to lock up Jackson Rippner.

She smoothly pulled up in front of her house. She looked behind her before opening the car door, just a quick peek, to make sure no one was approaching her, and then hopped out of the car and tried to look calm as she walked towards her front door. There was a thick rectangular package sitting on her front stoop, and Lisa bent to pick it up as she stepped inside.

Her house was neat and tidy; magazines in a pile on the coffee table, her coffee colored furniture perfectly matching the cream carpet, the kitchen sink empty and the counters spotless. Lisa collapsed on her couch and pulled at the brown paper covering the package. She rarely got mail, mostly bills, and so a package was a definite surprise.

Lisa finally got all the paper off and stared at the notebook in front of her. Her address was printed neatly on the sea-green colored cover, and slowly she opened the book. The words, "JACKSON RIPPNER" stared up at her. Lisa slammed the book shut and dropped it on the ground with trembling hands. Jackson had been right with the idea that just his name would terrify Lisa.

Cautiously, tentatively, Lisa bent and picked up the book. She knew it was from Jackson. No one else knew his name except him, herself, and her father. Her father would not send her some random notebook. She gathered her wits and opened the book again. Flipping to the middle, she was surprised by an amazing likeness of herself. Intrigued now, Lisa began thumbing through the pages of the book, skipping the first pages where her death had been described in gruesome detail.

Something caught her attention and she began reading.

_I hate you. You've done this to me. You've nearly killed me, lost me my job, lost me my life. I sit in this awful hospital and hate you, and see the scars you've given me, and I want to return these scars and infect you with them. _

_In the course of hating you, my hate has grown so strong that it's completely consumed me and now has become a sick sort of love. I spend so much time hating you and thinking of you that I ca—_

Here the writing stopped.

**- - x v x v x v x v x v x v x v - -**

Jackson drove silently up the street and towards Lisa's house. The sun was setting and everything was bathed in an odd purple light, and he wished it would just get dark already. He had spent his time arranging his apartment, drawing money from one of his many different bank accounts, and wondering if his company knew he was alive. He had finally decided that they didn't. He was right.

Stopping his car across the street from Lisa's house, he watched for any signs of movement. He found his throat growing dry at the thought of seeing her again, and cleared it loudly. One light was on in her house, in the living room, and he watched it turn off and an upstairs light turn on. _That must be her bedroom_, he thought, and grinned.

Jackson slipped silently out of his new car. Its shiny blackness glittered up at him in the dim light, and he patted it fondly. There was something to be said for eight different bank accounts, each with several hundred thousand dollars in them, each provided by his company back when he worked for them. Jackson Rippner now worked for no one. He was freelance. The only business he had right now concerned one Lisa Reisart and Revenge.

Revenge: what an incredible word. It had been Jackson's life's work. He had become an assassin for revenge, the image of his parent's dead bodies burned into his mind, and their murderer's leering face floating eerily above them. It's a childish thing, really, revenge is. But it is a lesson taught that you never forget. Six year old Jackson Rippner learned it too fast, not in the way that goes, "You broke my toy, I get to break yours." He learned, "You killed my parents, I get to kill you."

Rippner walked quickly and silently up the steps to Lisa's house, picked the lock, and stepped inside. He looked around and inhaled the familiar smell. He started towards the stairs, intending to surprise Lisa in the worst possible way, when he stopped. What the hell was that?

It couldn't be. There was absolutely no possible way. Jackson stared. There sat his notebook, its awful green cover seeming to glow in the dark. But was it really his? It couldn't—

In two decisive strides, he stepped forwards and ripped it open. Oh God. It was his. But how--? How in the _hell_ had she--? Jackson's anger began to cloud in him and destroy the carefully sculpted calm he had instilled in himself. Now every thought of Lisa seethed with anger and… what was that? Oh yes, desire.

Jackson raked his hands through his hair and fought for control. When had he begun to _desire_ Lisa? The answer came instantly- when he had spent two months writing her name and relishing memories of her. But even so, how in the fucking world had she gotten that damn notebook? He decided to go upstairs and ask her just that. Never mind that just the idea of seeing Lisa Reisart completely distracted him from his goal.

His foot on the stairs, Jackson stopped. Visions of a sweetly sleeping Lisa filled his head and he felt an odd fluttering in his stomach. This was the woman he intended to… to what?

He would get his revenge. He would slowly and painfully gain it, until Lisa was dead, inside _and_ out. For Jackson knew there were worse things than death. Lisa had put him through worse things, number one being the amount of time he had spent in the hospital. Jackson decided he needed to take his time, and turned around to return to his apartment and form a plan, when a bright light came on.

Whirling to face whoever had turned on the light, Jackson saw the blur that was Miss Reisart raise a mop over her head and begin to bring it down on Jackson's. He rose his hands up in one fluid motion and caught the mop handle and threw it to the ground. It slid desolately down the last two steps as Jackson and Lisa wrestled behind it.

Lisa hadn't even recognized her attacker, and fought wildly, but without fear. Anger had replaced fear long ago; at about the same moment she had visited Jackson. She had seen him lying there, sound asleep on the small hospital bed, and decided that though she had put him there, she still was letting him 'win' by allowing his memories to hold her back. All in one moment, Lisa had become stronger, and though the caution she had adopted after her two horrible experiences still remained, the fear had dissipated, and she had devoted herself to moving on.

She brought back her fist to punch whoever it was intruding in her house at the same time that Jackson grabbed her shoulders and brought his face nose to nose with hers. For a moment, Lisa didn't seem to recognize Jackson, and simply stared dumbly back into his ice blue eyes.

Then she screamed, screamed and struggled and panicked. Jackson covered her mouth with his hand and she bit down hard. He jumped away, swearing. She ran past him and grabbed the mop and stood with it pointed at Jackson, her breathing heavy. He looked up from his hand and saw disheveled Lisa standing there, pointing a mop at him, as if to ward him off, and began to laugh. A little jolt of desire shot through him, reminding him that he'd better not forget that this was about revenge, even if his plans were already getting messed up. Lisa had a habit of doing that.

"What the hell are you doing in my house," she asked flatly.

Jackson strode calmly down the last two steps and collapsed comfortably on her tan couch. "Just thought I'd drop in, see how you were doing. I heard you visited me in the hospital. Did you miss me?"

"You're supposed to be in jail," Lisa snapped, and her anger fortunately covered her shock. She knew something was up with those doctors. They were absolute morons. How could they have let him escape? She backed away from Jackson and towards the phone. He noticed her destination, however, and leapt up and towards her.

She swung out with the mop and Jackson grabbed it. She tried to shove him in the groin with one end of it, and he jumped out of the way, succeeding in pushing Lisa further towards the phone behind her. With one final shove, she was pressed up next to the phone and Jackson neatly ripped it off the wall. The mop handle was the only separation between their bodies, and Jackson leaned in close to Lisa and brushed his nose over her hair, inhaling her wonderful perfume. She recoiled and Jackson felt anger rise in him.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously. "How did you escape from the hospital? _Why aren't you in jail!_" She pushed against his shoulders and struggled underneath him, and Jackson felt her chest rub against his and threw the mop from between them. He cradled her in his arms and pressed her as close to him as he could, forgetting to think; only feeling.

Lisa, however, didn't have this advantage, and only beat harder against Jackson's chest. She felt warm and oddly safe pressed against him, and wanted to escape from this scary feeling. Jackson was the wrong person to feel safe with. "What are you doing!" she cried shrilly. "Let go of me!"

Jackson looked startled back into her eyes. He seemed to contemplate something, and then slowly shook his head and said, "You know, I don't think I will. Do you have any idea how much time I've spent thinking of--" he broke off and glanced at the notebook which still lay on the counter. "Well, you probably do. But come on now, Leese, did you really think you could put me in jail? You thought you could move on with your little life and forget I ever existed?" He smirked. "I've really gotten tired of you being afraid of me, Leese. Now, you've already ruined my plans once, and you just did again, and so--"

And that was when Jackson Rippner received a resounding punch to the jaw. Stars popped in front of his eyes and he heard Lisa say triumphantly from somewhere above him, "And now I've just ruined your plans for a third time." She turned towards the door just as Jackson reached out and grabbed her ankle. Soon she was down on the floor next to him.

A bare foot came rushing towards Jackson's face and he dodged it just in time. Lisa screamed as loudly as she possibly could, and struggled violently as Jackson pinned her ankles underneath his hands. She sat straight up and swung wildly at him, forgetting her fear in her panic. That was when Jackson's eyes met hers, and fear was remembered.

For with the blue that blazed and had blazed without extinguishment in her memory, came other memories that Lisa thought no longer affected her. Each terror from the Red Eye returned full blast. Lisa felt limp and foolish. People don't _really_ forget horrors like that. They claim to move on from them, but don't admit what a lasting effect those memories have on their lives.

Jackson watched Lisa's color drain from her face. She looked so scared and helpless, and for a moment, he felt an odd sense of power, that he had created that emotion within her. And then the power drained as he realized that the last time he had felt this way, he had nearly been killed. Anger quickly replaced power.

"Oh, suck it up." Jackson saw determination flash in Lisa eyes, and lay down on top of her, effectively pinning her underneath him. It was the only thing he could think of to stop her, and now that he felt her squirm underneath him, he was glad he had. He slowly and delicately brought her hands above her head and pinned them there. "You're different," he mused. "What happened to tearful Lisa?"

Lisa spat at him, and her saliva landed in his hair. "You're crazy," she hissed. "I don't know how you escaped from that _damn_ hospital, but I swear to God, you're going to be right back there when I'm done with you."

"Lisa, Lisa…" Jackson sighed dramatically and wiped the spit from his hair. He rubbed his wet hand down her cheek and watched her restrain a gag. "You're really not one to be threatening right now. Now, I asked you a question. I would really like to hear an answer."

His answer was another spit in the face. Jackson reached up, and, with great distaste, removed the spit from his hair and wiped it over Lisa's lips. She gagged loudly. Jackson ignored her, and leaned in as close to her face as he could. "Leese…" his voice was a venomous hiss, and he could feel Lisa shaking underneath him. "Where are your tears…? Why did you visit me in the hospital?" Lisa stared dully up at him. He shook her with his one free hand. "Answer me!" he growled. She shook her head, and Jackson felt his infuriation grow. "Little Lisa," he sneered, and then completely abandoned his grip on her wrists and brought his hands crashing down on her throat.

"I didn't want to resort to violence," he murmured, his voice dangerously low. "But you've really given me no choice. Now are you going to answer Mr. Rippner, or will he have to answer for you?" Lisa struggled desperately under his grasp. Jackson ignored her attempt to speak and nodded, his eyes burning holes into hers. "Alright, here's the answer. You visited me in the hospital because you've fallen in love with me! Wow, Lisa, I must say I'm flattered. You want to get married?" He looked down at her and nodded again. "Well, alright then. I'm game." Jackson relinquished his grip and Lisa gasped and choked underneath him.

He got up and deftly swung Lisa over his shoulder. She weakly protested as Jackson went over and left a note for her father on the kitchen counter. He had no doubt that the old man would come and check on his daughter when he didn't hear from her in over five minutes, and didn't want any searches conducted while Lisa was with him. Still with her over his shoulder, he walked up the stairs and into her room.

"Get some clothes," he said gruffly as he dropped her on the bed.

"I'm not going with you," she murmured, rubbing her throat and seeming unconcerned. "You can't just make me do whatever you want by choking me and being an idiot. I thought you would've learned that by now."

Jackson grinned wickedly. He rummaged through her drawers, decided he liked nothing he found, and slung Lisa over his shoulder again. She kicked and Jackson pinned her legs together. "Now that's where you're wrong," he said as he walked down the stairs, and Lisa could feel his smirk on her skin. "I can do whatever I want with you. You see, I've thought about you rather a lot while I was in that awful hospital, and--" his voice rose violently.

"—And not once, not ever--" Jackson heaved a breath as he carefully lifted his notebook off of the counter. He stared at it for a moment, and then shook his head. "Well, you've got me, Leese," Jackson shrugged, his voice quieter. "I really don't know what to do with you…" He sighed and left her house, locked the door behind him, and started towards his car. That was when Lisa decided to scream her head off, and perform an incredible twist in Jackson's arms that enabled her to kick him in the stomach. He dropped her and she took off.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks so much for all of the wonderful reviews! I absolutely love getting them, please keep it up! And now, on with the story…_

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****Chapter 3**

The freshly-mown lawn was smooth and slippery under Lisa's bare feet, and with every step she took she slid a little. This didn't stop her. She ran as fast as she could through her backyard, the pungent smell of grass in her nostrils. Jackson was panting somewhere behind her and this only egged her on. It was his voice that made her stop.

"Leese," he called breathlessly. "Leese, I know how you love the thrill of the chase, but I'm not going to keep doing this. Either you come with me, or…"

Lisa should have kept running. She should've leapt over the stupid white picket fence in front of her, should've gone crashing into her neighbor's house as fast as she could, should've called the police. But she stopped. "Or what?" She taunted from her position twenty feet away from Jackson.

Jackson's eyes narrowed. Lisa's hair was mussed up, and she was flushed from running. He watched her chest rise and fall with each heavy breath she took, remembered that vibrant moment when he had been pressed up against that very chest. He found that he was striding quickly towards Lisa. She simply stood there and watched him. Jackson broke into a run, and still she stood there. Soon the five-odd feet left separating them were crossed, and Jackson stood inches away from Lisa.

Blue eyes met green, and in the yellowish glow from the streetlamp, Lisa could've sworn Jackson was another person. He was maybe the brooding lover, she wondered. Maybe he was desperate, and in another world, another time, he would pull Lisa to him, and he would kiss her, and he would… But that wasn't Jackson. That would be someone else, some alter personality.

In this time, and this world, Jackson stared at Lisa and did nothing. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, though he wanted to. In that moment, Lisa was Untouchable. Ethereal, she stared back at Jackson, and because he had no idea what she was thinking about, he felt angry and surprised that she wasn't acting afraid of him. Jackson forgot that he wasn't allowed to touch her and he grabbed her shoulders and shook her, bringing her back to earth.

She slapped him.

Lisa Reisart pulled herself to her full height of five-foot-seven and tried to ignore the six-foot-two figure of Jackson Rippner looming over her. "What do you want," she asked quietly.

Jackson stared down at Lisa's calm face. He admired her courage, and at the same time, it irked him. Revenge would be so much easier if she wasn't beautiful, he found himself thinking, and cursed aloud. When had he ever cared about beauty? Come to think of it, when had he ever cared about _anything?_ Lisa stared up at him and Jackson wished she would look away. He had the odd sense that she could see right through him, and that no matter how he tried, she would always see that part of him, and he would never be able to change it. Jackson stuttered in front of what he felt were all-knowing eyes.

He soundlessly grabbed Lisa's wrist and pulled her after him. Walking to where he had dropped his notebook on the ground, he bent and picked it up, and flipped open, searching for a page. Finally he found it, and pressed the book into Lisa's hand.

Lisa's eyes widened. There was an excellent picture drawn in the book, completely in pencil, of Lisa's face. Or at least half of it. The other half seemed to be a shadow, and then, as if two faces were faded and melded together, was Jackson's face. Lisa couldn't tell if the shadowed half of the picture belonged to half of Jackson's face or half of her own. It was as if the two people were one.

Stunned, Lisa stared up at him. "Did you… Did you draw that?" Jackson nodded. "That is an incredible picture…" Jackson was studying her face now, and she knew he wanted her to speak her interpretation of it, but she couldn't find words. "I—I'm not—we're not _one_, like you drew us…"

Something flickered in Jackson's eyes, and they went from warm to cool. "I want you to come with me," he ordered her, like a father lecturing a child. Lisa, of course, disbelievingly shook her head.

"Are you kidding me? You can't just make me do whatever you want, _Jack_. I would've thought you'd know that by now…" She went oddly breathless.

"I want you to come with me," he said huskily. "You know I never lie. I _want_ you to come with me."

"No," she whispered, and she sounded shocked. "Why…? You tried to kill me, you're a murderer, you're—you're--" Lisa took a deep breath. "Give me one reason why I should."

"Why aren't you running away?" he asked, and felt his entire being shaking with yearning to pull Lisa close to him, but tried to ignore it.

"I don't know…" she said, and stepped a little away from him.

_Damn_, Jackson thought, and felt his desire to just touch her grow stronger. _Why the hell did she have to back away, right when he needed her close to him?_ But that was ridiculous. Jackson Rippner didn't need anyone, and he never had.

He angrily pulled Lisa to his chest and held her there, vowing to never let go. She struggled against him, reminding him of the significance of the scar on _her_ chest, and he expected her to grow stiff in his arms, and inwardly prayed that she wouldn't. He didn't know that Lisa was just about to bring her knee right up into his groin. He just pulled her tighter and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of Lisa, of the grass stuck in clumps to her feet. Lisa hadn't expected this uniquely comforting show of affection, and she stopped her movement.

Jackson sighed as he felt Lisa lean into him, and desire and longing bubbled in his chest. He wanted this feeling. He wanted this simple hug, this simple comfort that he had been denied his entire life. And he wanted Lisa Reisart. Deeply and intensely. Jackson ran his cheek down hers, and before he realized it, his lips had found hers.

At first, the kiss was soft and gentle. And then Jackson realized Lisa's fingers had snaked up and twined in his hair, and he let his hunger and lust take over. He was drinking from her, and she from him. The other world Lisa had been imagining combined with this one, and Jackson _was_ the brooding lover, and Lisa the rebellious romantic, who loves and longs and wants for this incredible feeling, but still tries to rebel against it and push it away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Alright, I'm posting this next chapter cos I'm at home sick and yada yada. Once again, thanks for the reviews! I love getting them and I really appreciate it. Alright, now for Chapter 4!

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**Chapter 4**

_**One year later**_

Light streamed into Lisa Reisart's bedroom. It fell across her white sheets, highlighting the brown head that peeked out from underneath them. The sun slowly rose; gradually highlighting a figure that stood leaned against the doorframe. The figure shifted on its feet and glanced at its watch. It rapped its fingers against the door frame. Lisa stirred in her bed, but slept on.

Jackson Rippner yawned. He watched Lisa turn sleepily in her bed, and vaguely thought that she looked comfortable. Maybe he should go join her… No! That thought was… incorrect. Jackson was now 30 years old, and he had not seen Lisa since that moment he had kissed her. He had kissed her and he had left, afraid of the longing she filled him with, afraid that with her influence, he would not be able to get Revenge.

He had spent the past year running. Somewhere along the way, his company had realized he was alive, and they had not wasted time with a greeting. They had wanted him dead. Jackson had ran and ran, skipping through the country like a rabbit with its tail on fire. He had finally somehow managed to fake his death, and he was proud of this fact. Never mind that he had really almost died in the process.

The fact was, now he really was a free man. He even had a new name: Jackson Montgomery. Needless to say, he liked this name much better than his old one. It had a nice ring to it. And, of course he had a new job… well, sort of. It involved Lisa, and revenge, and that was about it. Jackson was very excited about his new job. He watched sleeping Lisa toss and turn, as if she could feel his gleaming eyes on her back. A sun ray fell on her exposed shoulder, and she shrugged in her sleep and her eyes slowly flickered open.

Lisa looked around her room. It still was painted a very faint yellow, and always seemed to glow in the mornings. Lisa slowly sat up and stretched. Then she saw Jackson leaning against her door frame, and leapt out of her bed just as Jackson advanced towards her. She knelt down by the side of her bed and fumbled for the hockey stick she kept underneath, but her fingers groped at thin air. Jackson's lips curved into a smirk, and Lisa imagined those lips against hers. Maybe a year had passed, and with it many of her fears, but not that kiss. That kiss was burned into her mind and always would be.

"Looking for something?" Jackson asked, and produced the hockey stick from behind his back. He stepped towards the paralyzed Lisa and pulled her to her feet. "Come on now, Leese, you're not still afraid of me?" He gripped her chin in his fingers and brought it towards his face. She just stared back in shock. He didn't like that look. He wanted her to be thinking of that kiss right now, just like he was.

Jackson brushed his thumb over Lisa's lips and watched her eyelids flutter. She opened her mouth to speak and he took it as an invitation for his own, swooping down on her lips and kissing hungrily. He dropped the hockey stick and snaked his hands up her back and underneath her short pink tank top, enjoying the feel of her bare back underneath his palms.

Lisa felt her ability to think clearly fly out the window. She had imagined this moment for the past year, unconsciously dreaming of what Jackson would say, rehearsing each word, questioning why he had walked away from her after that incredible kiss. She could feel Jackson's heart beating against her, and thought of that picture he had shown her a year ago, in which they were the same person. Jackson lips probed and pressed against hers, and in that second, she matched his hunger and wound her fingers into his hair. A little moan escaped her lips, and Jackson chuckled.

"Why, Lisa," he murmured huskily. "One would almost think that you were enjoying this." He traced a pattern on her bare back, and she shivered, but didn't pull away.

"Jackson…" she gulped, and watched him carefully. "Why did you leave, after you—you kissed me?"

"I left because I needed to," he said curtly, and tried to ignore the desperate way she stared up at him.

Lisa had fallen in love with Jackson. She had no idea that she had, and didn't understand this horrible, empty feeling that was growing in her stomach. How could she? How often do people fall in love with murderers? Too many memories had been spent on that kiss, too much time spent on reliving it.

And much, much too much, had been spent leafing through that notebook Jackson had left behind.

Rebellion and pride pulsated in Lisa's stomach and combined with that awful, indescribable, _longing_ to have your own feelings returned, so that maybe, in seeing them in someone else, you can discover just what they really are.

"You said you wanted me to come with you," she whispered, and tried to turn away from Jackson. He felt an odd swooping in his stomach and wondered why she seemed disappointed.

Jackson was at a loss for words. Why wasn't Lisa fighting him? Why wasn't she screaming and yelling and kicking and biting? What the hell had happened? He shook his head. This was so typical. Prepare for something from Lisa, get the exact opposite. Sure, she made routines, and followed them devotedly, but it was the emotions behind the actions that intrigued Jackson.

He cleared his throat loudly. This was, once again, not going as planned. Jackson had looked forwards to tying Lisa up and shoving her into his car. Instead, he had the feeling that if he asked her to come with him, she willingly would. "What the hell happened?" he asked aloud.

Lisa backed away from Jackson and felt his hands slide out from under her shirt. She felt suddenly cold. "What do you want, Jackson?" she breathed. "Why are you here? Are you—Are you going to kill me? Why have you waited so long? I could've been gone ages ago." She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the awful way her stomach was flip-flopping.

He stared at her. She stared at him. Jackson cleared his throat for what felt like the fiftieth time. This—whatever _this_ was—had to be a ploy. Some excuse for time while she waited for the police to come. Never mind that Lisa could not have possibly called the police. Jackson would not allow revenge to escape from him a second time. He wordlessly lifted Lisa into his arms and cradled her, much like one would carry an invalid, out to her car. A note, like the one before, had been left on the counter addressed to Lisa's father. Some of her clothes were packed in her trunk. Her work partners had been told that their manager was on a much-needed vacation.

Jackson started Lisa's car and drove down the road with an oddly silent Ms. Reisart in back. He chewed his lip and thought. What if—no, that was impossible. But still… A new plan for revenge was forming in Jackson's mind.

Love was an emotion believable in books and movies, but never in real life. Real life dealt with facts alone. But Lisa, Jackson thought, seemed to have a little bit of both in her.

It would be the worst revenge ever earned. Instead of simply injuring Lisa, as he had intended to, he would injure her inside, also. After all, Jackson knew how it felt to lose something. And if Lisa could be made to fall in love with him, and then scorned, then that would be the worst revenge of all.

Jackson drove all day, and the smooth leather seat grew damp and sticky under Lisa's sweaty legs. She finally looked around the interior in a sort of shock, seeming to realize what was going on. Lisa then checked the time and saw that they had been driving for eight hours straight. It was already almost ten p.m.; she was hungry and had to go to the bathroom, and she probably looked like shit.

She was tired and frustrated, at herself, for practically willingly participating in this kidnapping, and at Jackson, who had the nerve to bring up these conflicting feelings in a normally strong-willed person. And most of all, she was confused. Lisa was never confused. She normally knew exactly what she wanted, what she had, and what she needed. But Jackson brought out this strange disability in her.

Lisa was so sure she had moved on. She was so sure, so _positive_, that her rape and the Red Eye no longer affected her. And they really didn't. But then, suddenly Jackson appeared, and it was if those horrible events had just happened yesterday.

"Why are you taking my car?" she asked dully, trying to hide this weakness.

"It would be rather odd to go on a vacation without your own car, wouldn't it?" he answered smoothly.

Lisa blinked. "No, it wouldn't. The last time I went on a plane, I rode a Taxi to the airport…" Her voice died out.

They had arrived at the topic of that Red Eye flight. The air in the car seemed to crackle with tension. The light of the streetlamps over the highway acted as the swinging, bare bulb, light, then darkness, light, darkness, light. Lisa felt her stomach contract, and watched Jackson's shoulders stiffen in the driver's seat in front of her.

"Did you want to talk about that, Leese?" Jackson sneered. "That been on your mind? Don't tell me: you haven't been on an airplane since…" he trailed off as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Lisa was sitting on the edge of the seat behind him, her face set. For a moment he thought she was going to just grab the wheel and steer them both off the side of the road and into the ditch. And then he saw her eyes, and the sadness there surprised him.

" Jackson… That flight is behind me. You didn't harm the Keefe's, and you didn't harm me." Lisa took in a deep breath and admired the way Jackson's knuckles had turned white in gripping the steering wheel.

"What I want to know is, what is this is about? Revenge? Oddly enough, I thought you were beyond that. I guess I was wrong." The sound of her strong voice was comforting and seemed to be coming from somewhere above her body. She slumped back against the seat and left Jackson spluttering in front of her.

Once more at a loss for words, Jackson began to spin the old lever that brought the window down. At ten at night, the air was still heavy and muggy. He struggled with the lever.

Lisa cried out desperately from the back seat. "Don't--! Don't lower the window, it's--"

With a great tug, Jackson unstuck the window lever and lowered it the last two inches. He turned to glance triumphantly at Lisa when he heard a great crash.

"—Broken…" Lisa sighed, exasperated.

Jackson turned to see that the entire window pane had tipped out of the door, falling with a smash onto the pavement, leaving the window frame empty. "What the hell," he muttered, preoccupied with watching the road and wondering about the disappearing window at the same time. He heard Lisa snort behind him. Then she began to laugh.

She laughed and laughed, and soon it became hysterical, and neither she nor Jackson could tell if she was actually laughing or crying anymore. He didn't know whether to join in or to stop the car and hold her. He liked the second option, but inwardly scoffed at the idea of Jackson Rippner—now Montgomery—comforting anyone. Jackson finally heard her gasps subside and turn into quiet, little sharp breaths.

A wrenching began inside of him at that sound. It was so vulnerable, and yet he knew that it was just Lisa, fighting for control within herself.

"You okay back there, Leese?" he meant it to sound sarcastic, but it came out almost caring.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"I don't think you are..."

Jackson took a right off the highway, drove past a McDonald's, Condominium complex, and finally turned onto a long dirt road. The car bumped and rattled over the potholes, and tree branches brushed the sides. Their long, encroaching fingers filled the stuffy car with suffocating darkness.

"Where are you taking me?" Lisa cried, a note of panic creeping into her voice.

She had spent the last seven hours of the journey with the words from Jackson's notebook floating in her mind, wondering if the tinge of desire embedded in the words had come from her imagination. Lisa had dissected every phrase from that book until it no longer held true meaning, instead, the thoughts and questions she had infused it with. It was pathetic, and she knew it. She silently berated herself for her stupidity.

Why, oh _why_, had she wasted her precious thoughts on _him_ when she could have been planning escape?

Jackson appreciated the panic in Lisa's voice, and decided to draw out that emotion. "Well…" he sighed dramatically and slowed the car. "I _might_ just kill you…

"…But I wouldn't want to do that right away, right? I mean, drive you all the way out here to my lovely home, and then just kill you? That would be kind of boring, wouldn't it?" Jackson stopped outside of his huge house and allowed Lisa to drown in the silence inside the car.

Serenely, he stepped out of the car and pulled open the back door. Lisa sat limply on the seat and stared at him. He reached in and dragged her out, trying to ignore the way her lips trembled and looked swollen in the porch light.

The problem was he wanted Lisa to be strong. He wanted the Lisa that would fight back. This new Lisa seemed tired of fighting, seemed to want to be held and protected. A small voice in Jackson's mind cried, "I can protect her!"

And that's when he received a blinding jab to the groin.

He bent double and gasped for breath. The dimly lit figure of Lisa could be seen running towards the house, and he wanted to laugh. So she still had some fight in her. As it was, he struggled towards her, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get inside the locked house and call the police, or whatever it was she was planning on doing. "Leese," he rasped.

She whirled to face him and began to dart around the other side of the porch. He gathered his breath and took off after her. She got as far as the end of the porch when he tackled her, and both went flying off the edge and into the large lavender bushes that made up Jackson's spice garden.

The sweet and heady scent of lavender clouded up and around them, and Jackson studied Lisa's flushed face. Her hair was un-brushed from that morning, and she still was in her pajamas. The little tank top rode up and Jackson ran his hands over her soft stomach. Lisa shivered and pushed against him, trying to escape.

"Lisa," he whispered, enjoying the taste of her name. He ran his fingers through her tangled hair as the porch light, which was set on a timer, turned off. Lisa made a feeble attempt to push away from Jackson, and the lavender rustled underneath her.

The stars twinkled warmly above the couple and the full moon provided just enough light to see indistinct shapes. Lisa could sense more than see Jackson's lips descending down over hers, and was filled with an intriguing feeling of panic. If he kissed her, she was in danger of falling completely and helplessly under the spell of Jackson, and that could mean living in memories and words, words written on sheet after sheet of paper. But then again, if he didn't kiss her, then… Her swelling heart just might burst.

"Leese…!" Jackson's hands raked roughly through her hair and pulled it firmly back from her face. And finally, finally he bent and kissed her. His lips were hard and desperate and hopeless against hers, and he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, enclosing several buds of lavender as well.

Something told them both that this was the last honest action that could pass between them. And even in this hungry kiss, lies were embedded, but they were honest lies that didn't masquerade as truths.

Lisa had thought that a kiss would stop her swelling heart. Her heart burst anyway. And in that last moment of honesty, she freed her lips from Jackson's in the one moment that she could, and she hoarsely whispered aloud those oddly vital words.

"I love you."

Jackson grew stiff above her, and her heart sank and it's dusty, blown up remains fell to the bottom of her stomach. The damage had been done. Jackson's revenge had been achieved.

But he returned to kissing her, roughly and angrily, and he was furious with himself.

Why does love have to be so incredibly… difficult? Why do the awful emotions have to be so simple, and the wonderful ones so complicated? It seems we have to have an explanation for every _big_ emotion we feel, but we rarely question the small, inconsequential ones.

Jackson didn't question enough. He rarely ever knew what he felt; he had turned off his ability to feel so long ago. And Lisa questioned too much.

You might think the two could balance each other out.

You'd be wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

_Aaagh Thanks for the reviews! I want to just share this little insight I have about each of the characters; it might make this chapter more understandable. _

_Both Lisa and Jackson are fighting for control. Lisa feels she has to protect herself inwardly after her rape, and Jackson has become numb to all feeling_. _Both also only think of how their feelings can hurt themselves, never of how they hurt each other, and a battle for pride and protection begins, for each brings out a weakness in the other._

_Alright, I'll shut up now. On with the chapter._

**Chapter 5**

Jackson's house could basically be described as big and… wooden. There was not one carpeted surface in the entire building, as every single floor was covered in smooth hardwood. There were also some thirty-something rooms, including a card room, dining room, den, five or six bedrooms, and a library. The house was decorated tastefully and impeccably. Needless to say, Jackson was very proud of his home.

Lisa sat upside-down in one of the big burgundy armchairs in the library. Her wet hair hung down and dripped on the floor, and she thought in a satisfied way that it would probably leave a stain. She studied her toes from her odd position, as her feet were up where her head should've been. Jackson had, of course, provided her with all the essential toiletries she would need, and she had been greatly disturbed to even find her favorite _shaving cream_ in the shower. Why did Jackson have to be so… _efficien_t?

_That was all he was_, she thought bitterly, and wondered at the incredible ache that accompanied those words. _He even kissed efficiently. Efficient enough to force out those awesomely powerful words, _I love you…_ Knowing Jackson, that kiss had probably just been part of his job_.

Lisa wanted to scream. She didn't think she could bear it if she found that he had only kissed her to make his job easier. For after that kiss, she had definitely lost a bit of her defiance. It had been a very meek Lisa Reisart that allowed Jackson to carry her up the smooth stairs and into a huge bedroom, where she promptly fell asleep. But nine sufficient hours of sleep and one long shower later, Lisa was back to being defiant. Defiant and desperate. Now she was focused on developing a plan. For what, she wasn't exactly sure.

She had been allowed to wander the house at length, as Jackson had assured her that very morning that she "Had no way of making an escape, because even if you manage to get out of the house, you'll still have to run down the three-mile driveway, and I'll be damned if I don't catch up with you in my car." Lisa was well and truly trapped. This idea was somehow horrible and exciting at the same time.

Finally, she ended up in the library. After spending a considerable amount of time sliding along the floor in her socks, Lisa had collapsed in the chair in which she now hung upside down. And so that was how Lisa Reisart's first morning in Mr. Montgomery's house had gone.

Jackson felt a grin growing on his lips as he stood outside the library and simply watched Lisa, her toes in the air and her wet hair creating puddles on the floor. He had felt her lips against his the entire night, and he had dreamt of her. The way she had felt so willing in his arms had more than surprised him, it had intoxicated him, and at this moment Jackson was completely prepared to say, "Screw revenge, I'm keeping Lisa here until the day I die."

But he didn't say that. Instead, he yelled, "Breakfast's ready!" He turned away andheard a loud gasp and a following thump, for Lisa had tried to sit up in the chair and instead fell out of it. He chuckled and tried to ignore the memory of their kiss that swam up in his head.

Lisa rubbed her back and padded down the stairs and towards the strains of Frank Sinatra that were coming from the kitchen. She half expected to see servants working in there, but instead found Jackson sitting on a stool at the counter, a half eaten plate of eggs and toast in front of him. The stool next to him had a plate of food in front of it. Lisa fought down the unnatural cry of her brain, which was, "I can't sit next to him and _eat!_"

Frank Sinatra crooned louder from the stereo, proclaiming what a beautiful day it was, and as Lisa made the long journey across the kitchen, she unplugged it. Jackson's head jerked up from the newspaper in front of him.

"What did you do that for?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as Lisa snatched her plate from the counter next to him and hopped up on the counter opposite. She proceeded to eat calmly and didn't look at him.

"I couldn't find the 'off' switch," she answered.

Jackson finished his breakfast and moved over to the sink, which was unfortunately right next to Lisa. "So I take it you don't like Frank Sinatra?"

She shook her head, and tried desperately to hold her ground. She couldn't scoot away from Jackson now… Just keep eating, just keep eating… _He can't read your thoughts_, she told herself firmly. _He doesn't know that just being this close is making it hard to breathe..._

"So…" he continued washing his dish. "Who _do_ you like, then?"

Frustrated with herself and her body's incredibly odd and disturbing reaction to Jackson's nearness, Lisa burst out, "God, _Jack_! What are you doing, trying to make _small talk_? You kidnapped me, remember?"

He looked annoyed and set the plate down in the dish rack a little harder than was necessary. "And you _kissed_ me, _remember?_"

"I did not kiss you!" Lisa spluttered. "_You_ kissed _me_!"

"Oh, I did, did I?" said Jackson in a voice that clearly indicated otherwise.

Lisa blushed and slammed her empty plate down on the counter. "Yes," she spat, "You did." She hopped off of the counter and began to walk away, tossing over her shoulder for good measure, "I would _never_ kiss you." She huffed her way out of the large kitchen, completely unaware of Jackson's infuriated presence behind her. Lisa was halfway up the large staircase when she stopped, and he ran smack into her.

"Why, Lisa," Jackson hissed into her ear. "You didn't need to stop; it was very entertaining following you." He wrapped his arms around her waist. Lisa weakly tried to pry them off. "Leese…" he breathed into her neck. "You really don't struggle like you used to. But that's alright. It generally makes it easier…"

"Makes what easier?" Lisa's voice shook.

"Revenge," Jackson said simply. As soon as he said the word, he regretted it. But how else could he end this? He had to win this time. He couldn't lose. Not again. He must hang onto his goal.

"So that _is_ what this is about!" she cried. Jackson nestled his face in her neck and she could feel him nod. Disappointment and hopelessness welled up in Lisa and she longed to escape. She had become Jackson's toy, to be used until he became tired of her. A single, solitary tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.

Jackson finally pulled away from her and stared at the desolate face in front of him. This was beginning to grow old. Lisa surely had something up her sleeve. Jackson pushedher from him and stumbled away, up the remaining stairs and down the hallway opposite the library. It was as he finally reached his office at the end of the hall that he remembered Lisa had said she loved him. An odd glow began to fill Jackson inside, and he tried to believe that it was simply because he had already accomplished his revenge... Because he had, hadn't he? Lisa loved him, and you could say that she had just been scorned, right? Right?

Truthfully, Jackson was beginning to regret this whole 'revenge' plan, and was finding the idea of Lisa loving him much more attractive. Jackson forgot that he didn't believe in love.

Lisa watched Jackson's retreating back, and then she fled down the same hall and into her bedroom. She flopped down on the bed and tried to ignore the wave of pure grief that was crashing down on her. She was just a pawn. She meant nothing.

But why, oh why, did she have to be in love with, of all people, Jackson Rippner? _Or, as I must now call him, Jackson Montgomery_, she thought wryly. Lisa rubbed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She was in love with him. That was that. _It's bad enough that I don't even trust my own emotions_, she told herself firmly. Now, I have a problem, and I need to fix it. _If I can_, her brain added silently.

She crawled off the bed and walked over to where her suitcase sat on the bureau. She absently thumbed through the many articles of clothing that still lay inside, and that was when she found it. Her finger brushed a thin piece of wire, and Lisa pulled out Jackson's notebook. Why had he packed it? Maybe he wanted her to find it! Maybe he wanted her to know that he—that he—did she dare to even think it?

Lisa held the slightly-tattered book in her hands and stared at it for awhile before finally opening the door to her bedroom and stepping out into the hall. In a dream, she moved down the corridor and towards Jackson's office. A low rumble of thunder drowned out the sound of her footsteps, and the first drops of rain began to hit the windows.

And then suddenly, she was there, and her hand was on the doorknob. What was she thinking? What was she going to say? A brief flash of lighting filled the room, followed by a loud crash of thunder. Lisa's grip on the notebook had become painfully tight. With a slam, the door wrenched open. Lisa stepped in as calmly and boldly as she could, holding the book to her chest like protection. Jackson looked up from his desk in amusement and surprise. Finally, his gaze fell on the book, and his eyes narrowed.

"Where did you get that?" He had thought Lisa would've thrown the stupid thing away by now.

"You packed it," Lisa said, her voice trembling. This was not a good sign.

"I did not!" A huge crash of thunder filled the room, adding punctuation to his statement. The thunder was like a weight falling on top of Lisa and crushing her.

Miserably, she remembered that she had hidden the notebook from herself by folding it inside an old sweater. Jackson hadn't meant to pack it at all. He had simply grabbed that _damn_ sweater. A flare of lighting lit the room and flashed across Lisa's stricken face. There was a loud crack, and then the house was plunged into darkness. Jackson and Lisa both waited with bated breath to see if the power would come back, but nothing happened. Rain lashed and pounded harder against the windows.

Laughing uncomfortably, Lisa said, "I can't see a thing…" _Run!_ Her brain screamed. _Run! Run! Escape!_ But she couldn't move. She was frozen.

From somewhere in the darkness Jackson's voice replied sarcastically, "Well, yes, that happens when the power goes out." He paused. "But tell me, Leese, why do you still have that notebook? I'm surprised you would want to keep it, I seem to remember describing your death in vibrant detail in that stupid thing…"

Lisa slowly sunk to her knees on the wooden floor. Jackson didn't even seem to care. How could something that had meant so much to her mean so little to him?

"You didn't just describe my death…" she whispered.

"I didn't?" Jackson feigned ignorance. Lisa was almost acting as though she cared about what was written in that cursed thing, he thought, and didn't know what to do. Finally, he decided it would be best to be blunt.

Jackson sunk down on his knees and scooted towards where he thought Lisa was. "Why do you still have my notebook, Leese?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," she replied. He moved closer to the sound of her voice.

"I think you do know," he murmured, and he was right in front of her now. Lightning briefly lit up the office, alerting Lisa to Jackson's nearness, and he grabbed her arms to keep her from scooting away. Thunder crashed overhead and drowned out Lisa's protesting squeak.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, successfully changing the subject.

Jackson was startled into an answer. "I—I kissed you because--" his voice faltered, and then he began to laugh. "You just keep on asking me that, don't you? Well, I guess I'd better hurry up and answer, since it's such a _burning_ question. I suppose I rather like kissing you, and… hmm… I don't know, I--"

Lisa interrupted him. "Yesterday," she whispered heatedly. "Why did you kiss me yesterday? I had just--"

"—Kicked me in the balls, yeah, I know. I guess I just—oh, I don't know." Jackson's voice broke off frustratedly. "Why am I telling you all this damn stuff? So far you've told me absolutely nothing!" Lighting lit the room once more, followed by the loudest crack of thunder yet. Lisa jumped.

The rain drummed louder and more insistently on the windows.

She wanted to say something. She wanted to just say anything. But her voice seemed to be trapped behind the lump growing in her throat. The silence stretched on and on.

Maybe they didn't need to say anything. The air was filled with memories, memories that really just needed to be buried six feet under. Both were thinking of the events of that Red Eye flight, and both felt a certain sense of regret. Things were oddly simpler back then.

"Oh, Leese," Jackson finally muttered huskily. "I don't know what's wrong with me. For that matter, I don't really know what's wrong with you, either, but all I do know is that since I've met you, you've messed up every plan I've ever made." Another flash of lighting. Lisa could see Jackson's face leaning in towards hers before everything was plunged into darkness.

" Jackson," she said desperately. "Do you remember what I--"

He interrupted her. "It's very annoying," he murmured, and Lisa could feel his breath and cheek. She was petrified and couldn't move. "You are, I mean. Well, actually, you're not, but I—Oh, Lisa…"

The air in the room cracked and sparkled with tension. Jackson was so very close, Lisa thought helplessly. She felt an alarming mixture of embarrassment and confusion. Why couldn't things just be simple? Why was she even here? She should've been at home right now, reading a book and eating leftover spaghetti for lunch. Not here in this huge house with a man who had nearly murdered her, and now seemed to be content to kiss her to death.

And for God sakes, why _wouldn't_ Jackson just lean in and flipping kiss her? Was it really that difficult?

Suddenly, Jackson rocked back on his heels, and spoke in a firmer voice. "…But you won't mess up this plan." His voice grew stronger, and Lisa had the sudden sense that he was talking to himself, and trying to convince himself of something.

"Do you have any idea how much time I spent in that damn hospital?" he asked her, his voice menacing. "I spent three months there! _Three fucking months!_ And do you know whose fault it was?"

Jackson's grip had become painfully tight on Lisa's shoulder. Whereas he had been close before, he was now not only physically far away, but seemed to be mentally distant, too.

"It was my fault," he finally said. "My fault, but yours as well." Jackson jerked Lisa's arm towards him, and her knees burned painfully on the smooth floor.

"Let go of me," she said firmly, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

Jackson seemed to snap out of his reverie and jumped when lightning lit the room once more. When he spoke, his voice was clear and cold, missing the emotion it had held seconds ago. "But that doesn't matter anymore. Just like you said. The flight is behind us, isn't it? _Isn't it?_ And so now we're free to move on."

Lisa was shaking. Jackson Montgomery was crazy. He was going to kill her. His fingers dug deeply into her arm, seeming to pierce her heart.

"And moving on means kidnapping me, and bringing me to your house, so you can get your revenge? Is that what moving on means?" Lisa choked back a sob.

"_Moving on_ means living in the present, _Leese_. You seem to be having a bit of trouble with that concept. I said that the flight was behind us, remember? Whatever happens now has nothing to do with it.

"Maybe I just don't like you. Ever thought of that, _Leese?_"

Jackson was getting a thrill out this moment. If only these words held this much feeling in his mind. Then Revenge would be accomplished and over… _But what will happen when it _is_ over?_ He thought. _I'll just drive Lisa back to her home like nothing ever happened? I can't kill her, I just--can't. So what, exactly, the hell was I thinking?_

_And, more importantly, what if I have already accomplished what I set out to do? Lisa did say that…_ Jackson blinked. _But what if it was just some escape plan? Some excuse…? _

Lisa couldn't take it anymore. She leapt to her feet, wrenching her arm out of Jackson's grip, stumbling slightly on her cramped legs, running from the room. The notebook lay on the ground where she had been sitting. Jackson heard her footsteps retreat down the hall and into the library in a kind of fog. The bright flash of lighting, followed quickly by a loud boom of thunder, finally startled him from his thoughts.

He ran his hands through his hair. "Damn."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_The odd thing about two people who each influence each other's lives is that each brings out a weakness in the other. For example, there's the fact that your life will continually be affected by that other person, thereby changing what happens day to day. __But what if you don't want that influence? What if you want to avoid association with that person entirely? Of course, by avoiding them, you would only be allowing that person to influence you even more. _

_And so, in short, you can't win. Our lives are not really our own, they are shared by those in our lives. We are influenced, changed, altered, by these people no matter what; we can't control it. _

_It's senseless to fight it. And so instead, a battle for control must begin. _

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Lisa sat on her bed and listened to the pounding rain. Her thoughts seemed unnaturally loud and she desperately wanted to drown them out but couldn't. They ran in circles, gradually growing wider and wider, accompanying more information. The air in the huge bedroom suddenly seemed suffocating and so Lisa slowly got up and opened her window. Rain blew in with surprising force, bringing with it sweet fresh air, and she had the urge to go outside.

Wind swept across Lisa's face as soon as she stepped out, lifting her chestnut curls and creating a halo about her face. The gravel outside the front porch crunched under her feet. Lisa stopped and surveyed her surroundings, for the first time seriously considering escape. To her left was a large field. The grass swayed and whispered in the wind and she turned towards it, leaving the inky darkness of the trees behind her.

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. The trees followed the only path of escape, being the border to Jackson's driveway.

Rain pelted Lisa Reisart's small figure, but her thoughts only grew louder. They drowned out the cold and the strong wind. They drowned out everything.

Lisa felt stupid and naive. She didn't love Jackson! What was she thinking? She firmly pushed that thought from her mind, considering it to be an embarrassing display of weakness. She was Lisa Reisart. She did not fall in love with murderers. She had been raped, nearly killed, and almost forced to aide in killing someone else. In each of these experiences she had survived. Damn it if she was going to finally be brought down in this one.

Of course, love was quite an intriguing idea. But with Jackson Montgomery? The idea was ridiculous, and Lisa laughed aloud. Rain prickled sharply against her face, scolding her for daring to disrupt the silence of the storm. She continued walking, across the field, figuring out and deciphering each and every feeling in her head until everything was reasoned and accounted for and everything made sense.

The simple fact was that she had imagined those feelings in Jackson's notebook. Why did that thought disappoint her so?

_I'm doomed,_ Lisa thought, suddenly sullen. _I want love. But I'll never have it. I don't even know what love is, and I obviously don't know where to engage my trust. I'll never know. I'm too busy protecting myself from any sort of closeness._

Lisa's precious protection. It kept her strong even in the hardest of times, that small belief that people still didn't completely know her, and therefore couldn't possibly see what she was feeling. It kept her moving on, and enabled her to let go of the past. But somehow, around Jackson that self-assurance evaporated and left Lisa reeling. She would inexplicably realize all that she was losing by forcing herself to operate alone. Maybe because she saw Jackson's example and was terrified that she would end up like him.

A hollow, resigned feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach. It was actually a relief compared to the tumult of her feelings before. Lisa wasn't ready to sacrifice her protection unless she was forced to, and so, so what if she was never loved? Who cared? It didn't matter, right? Right? _Right?_ What mattered now was escaping from this madman's house.

The grass moved in waves across the field, seeming to stretch on for all eternity. Its golden crests hypnotized Lisa and she continued across. Dark, thick clouds stretched above the horizon. The rain continued to fall, lightening slightly into bigger, wetter drops, which the wind blew in spirals. Lisa was soaked and still continued to walk, using the distance from Jackson as protection.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X-- **

Jackson buried his face in his hands. The office was still cloaked in darkness, and he sat and stared in front of him, willing his mind to become as blank as the gloom. He heard a door slam from down the hallway and took it as a welcome distraction. Jackson started towards the door, tripped slightly over his notebook, and swore under his breath. He should burn the thing. How had Lisa found it? He still didn't know how she had gotten it in the first place. Wait a minute. Lisa. Lisa!

The office door wrenched open for the second time that day and Jackson flew down the hallway. He yanked open the door to Lisa's room and was hit by a blast of wet, cool air. He closed the window and flew from the room once more, pausing only to grab his windbreaker at the bottom of the stairs. _Lisa escaped,_ his mind sang mockingly. _She escaped, you lost, it's your fault. _Jackson surveyed his surroundings from the porch and dimly saw Lisa in the distance, a small dot in the middle of the vast, thirty-acre field. He took off after her.

Grass tugged at Jackson's legs and the rain pelted his face. The first inkling of panic began to grow in his stomach. How long had Lisa been out here? She could be sick by now! _Why do you care what happens to her?_ A little voice in his mind tittered. Jackson ignored it and continued running, staggering on the uneven ground. He had to get to Lisa. He had to save her. She couldn't escape.

Lisa continued walking, devoting all of her concentration to putting one foot in front of the other. Her wet jeans seemed to be weights that only allowed her legs to move slightly, and she felt heavy and slow. But she was escaping. That was all that mattered. Briefly Lisa wondered what was wrong with her; where was the Lisa that fought back? She was running away.

Rain blew ferociously in Jackson's face, and he saw a bolt of lighting fork to the ground in the distance. Why wouldn't Lisa just stop? Frustration and… what was that? Worry? Bubbled in Jackson's chest and raggedly he cried out.

"Lisa!"

She whirled around and looked at him. Jackson felt sure that the moment would be preserved in his brain for all of eternity.

Her hair was limp from the rain, and the wind whipped it about her face. Thunder rumbled from the black clouds above, shaking the ground. Jackson stopped. He felt the rain pelt him, seeming to drive him towards her, and it was that small step that did it. Lisa spun around again and began to run, weak, sodden steps that made it maddeningly obvious how desperately she wanted to be away from Jackson.

Jackson stood and watched her, and wished he could at least feel angry. _Why did she have to run away._ It was a statement, not a question. He strode towards her, always behind her, never catching up. Simply following Lisa's small form. Jackson desperately needed to think, but his mind was so crowded with Lisa that he couldn't.

She hated him. She didn't love him, and she never would. She had lied, even after he had promised that he would never lie to her. For God's sakes, she was so desperate to be away from him that she was outside running for her life in a Georgia thunderstorm.

"Lisa!" Jackson cried again, and it was a gut-wrenching, violent call in the storm. The wind blew his voice to her and suffocated her with it. She stumbled slightly and fell on her knees in the wet grass, and Jackson ran towards her. Struggling to her feet, Lisa cast a panicked look over her shoulder. Was he going to kill her now?

Jackson felt his breath being whipped away from him, and lightning flared ominously in the distance. Was he to forever be chasing after Lisa and never catching up? With a tremendous effort, he ran towards her, the long grass tripping him.

"Wait for me!" he cried, and didn't know what made him say it, but it didn't matter anyways, because a loud crash of thunder drowned out his words.

Lisa felt a loud sob escape her lungs. She was so very cold, and her wet clothing was slowing her down and trapping her. She had gone out into the field to escape and instead the very wilderness was attempting to cage her. The grass seemed to stretch on and on, with only dark unfeeling clouds in the distance.

Jackson was desperate. Never had this feeling clouded inside of him so much, never had it destroyed him the way it was right now. Lisa was slowing now, and he stopped as well.

"Lisa," he panted, and for once she turned to look at him. The resignation in her eyes was horrifying. But why did he care? He was a cold-hearted assassin, his mind mocked. Jackson felt anger surge inside of him. Was he to be forced to live without feeling for the rest of his life? A carcass of coldness, stretching on and on? He was imprisoned in his life of emotions that were objects and had the sudden sense that he would always remain that way. He would always be an outsider looking in, viewing people as mannequins that made no difference in the world.

Jackson's anger rose into a great wave and crashed inside of him, and he hated himself, and he hated Lisa for bringing out this awful honesty in him.

Lightning lit up the field. Jackson strode towards Lisa, and she turned and began to run again. He lunged after her and caught her about the waist, and both fell to the soggy ground. Lisa kicked against him and struggled and screamed, and Jackson felt a palpable weakening inside of him. He would never be the same cold assassin around Lisa Reisart. As much as he hated it, he needed her to become human, and the sooner he accepted that, the sooner he could… do what? What would he do without Lisa?

"Oh God," he whispered, and watched tears stream down her face as she weakly struggled against his clasp on her wrists.

An overwhelming fear was taking over Lisa. She was so very cold that she could barely move, and it was her inability to do anything that frightened her most. Where was her precious protection now? Why was it gone? She screamed as loudly as she possibly could, but the thunder drowned it out. Jackson gripped her wrists tighter and rolled over, pulling her on top of him. The tall grass created a wall around them and the rain continued to pour down, and Lisa's tears continued to fall. Jackson cradled her wet body against him and tried to comfort her as he tried to comfort himself.

"I have never lied to you," Jackson said, trying desperately to stop himself from saying something he might regret. Lisa continued to cry above him. He slowly stood and she tried weakly to follow him back towards the house, but after a couple steps she fell and couldn't get up. Jackson lifted her in his arms and carried her back across the field, the field that she had promised to be strong and had vowed to escape in.

Some ten acres later, Jackson reached the door to his house and, upon stepping inside, found that the power was still off. Wearily he set Lisa down on the stairs and moved over to the circuit breaker. Nothing happened, and he appeared a moment later looking tired. He sat down on the slippery wood next to Lisa and both stared dully ahead in silence.

Lisa was tired of protecting herself. Just once, she wanted to rely on someone else, to _be_ protected. But to be protected, one must give up their shield, and Lisa was afraid to. So she sat in silent thought.

Jackson's thoughts ran in an entirely different path. He was staring at Lisa's cold little hand. _Just take it!_ He told himself. _Just take her damn hand, there's nothing wrong with that, just take it… Why are you afraid to…? Just grab it… Just…_ He slowly reached out and covered Lisa's slender hand in his own. Even her fingertips were cold. She turned wide eyes up to his face and her fingers tightened around his own.

It was as if each had just lost a loved one. And in a way, they had. Lisa rested her head on Jackson's shoulder and he rested his nose on her wet hair. The house was dim and the rain still pounded relentlessly against the windows.

And that's when Jackson knew that he would never be able to accomplish his revenge. Lisa was his one real weakness.

For God's sake, he was in love with her.

Jackson lifted his face from Lisa's hair and stared down at her in dawning fascination. That was it. He loved her. And now he had a perfect reason to keep her in his house forever and ever, he thought gleefully. But what if she didn't love him? What if she _had_ lied when she said that before? Jackson had to know. But could he just come out and ask her? What if she said she hated him?

But if he didn't do something, he thought, then he would be doomed to his life of coldness forever.

Lisa looked up and saw Jackson's face avidly watching her. She felt numb and cold, and vaguely wished that he would just hurry up and accomplish this "revenge" so that she could go home. "What?" she snapped grumpily.

"Nothing," Jackson said quietly. It was pointless. He stood up and was halfway up the staircase when he stopped. "I'm sorry," he said loudly. The words were foreign and tasted oddly in his mouth. He heard Lisa walking up the stairs and towards him, and turned around and watched her. But she didn't stop. She continued on past him, and shortly after he heard her bedroom door click shut.

Jackson stood in the darkness of the stairs for a long time. A great ache like he had never felt before was filling him, and it was intriguing and awful at the same time. It seemed as if his life of coldness was staring him in the face once more and Jackson panicked. He stumbled up the stairs and down the hall, his wet shoes squelching on the floor. He pounded on Lisa's locked door and called her name wildly, again and again. He rattled the doorknob and knew she was standing just on the other side.

"Lisa," Jackson whispered hoarsely into the dim light. "Lisa, please open the door. Lisa!" Still nothing happened, and desperately he pounded on the door. "Lisa!"

Lisa stood on the other side of the door and listened with growing horror to Jackson's hysterical voice. She was deathly afraid of her own feelings, and of him.

"Lisa!" He cried louder from the hallway, and there was a sob in his voice now. "Lisa!" His fists banged on the door. "Lisa, just open the door… Please, Lisa…"

Lisa continued to stare in horror at the door. Shouldn't she be feeling powerful right now? Instead, the remnants of her shield were falling about her, and she was terrified. She backed towards the bathroom and away from Jackson's voice.

"Lisa," he moaned hoarsely for the last time. She shakily turned on the shower and watched the room fill with steam. She began to seriously regret not opening the door for Jackson. What had he wanted to tell her? What had he been crying about?

What had he needed her for? Had he needed her? What had happened to the cold and heartless Jackson? What had happened to Revenge?

The hot water washed over Lisa, but couldn't erase Jackson's voice from echoing in her head. When she finally climbed into her large bed and fell asleep, Jackson called raggedly to her again and again in her dreams, and she woke up in a cold sweat with the blankets wrapped tightly around her. It was only seven-thirty at night and she decided she was hungry. Lisa had her hand in her suitcase when she stopped. Jackson's tortured voice echoed through to her ears once again, calling her and pleading. Open the door. It took on a whole new meaning in Lisa's mind, and she wondered vaguely if by opening the door to Jackson she would be letting others in as well, thoroughly blasting apart the remnants of her shattered protection. But that was ridiculous. You don't open your heart to murderers, even if you are—_were—_in love with them.

Lisa got dressed and firmly stepped out into the hall. The power was back on, leaving everything unnatural in the new, gray light. Rain still spattered lightly against the windows and wind whistled and sighed around the house. She entered the kitchen and found Jackson standing with his back to her, facing the stove. There was something different about him. Something stiffer, more rigid in the clench of his jaw, and Lisa recognized it and it disappointed and frightened her. She made as if to leave the kitchen when he turned around and spoke.

"Hello, _Leese._ Get a good sleep?" Lisa vaguely wondered when it had gone back to that mocking Leese again.

"I—yes," she answered uncomfortably. Her mind told her to fight back and her heart sighed and complained that it was tired.

"Because, you know, I wondered. How often do people that are kidnapped get wonderful, restful naps? How often? You should consider yourself lucky, _Leese._" Jackson snapped his knuckles as he turned back to the stove. He hated Lisa.

"What are you suggesting?" Lisa spoke bravely.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. Lisa's soft brown hair fell in large curls about her face, and her green eyes were wide; angry and afraid at the same time. She was beautiful and he loved her. And he wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him, until she was left a skeleton, doomed to a life of coldness like he was.

"Oh, I don't know," he said airily, while his mind screamed at him to shut up. "I just hope that you liked your rest."

Lisa got his meaning and began to back from the room. He was going to rape her. Would the nightmare never end? Just when she thought she had found relief, it was ripped from her. Oh, what she would've given to just have opened that damn door! How different things would be! Lisa stopped walking and stared at Jackson's back.

"I--" she began tentatively. Jackson whipped around to stare at her. "I'm sorry I didn't come, you know, get the door for you before, I just--"

Jackson had leapt towards her and his hands were poised just above her neck. Lisa found that she had quite literally backed herself into a corner, and Jackson was inches away from her. His hands stopped hairs above her throat and she tried to slow her breathing, so that her neck wouldn't brush his waiting fingers as she gasped in air.

"Don't ever," he hissed, "Don't you _ever_ mention that again. That was my pitiful attempt for your pity so that you would unlock your _damn_ door and I could get into your room and—And--" He stopped, and his stomach pressed fleetingly against hers as he inhaled sharply. "You're disgusting," he snarled, hurling Lisa from him. She stumbled away and then held her ground.

Shocked and angry, Lisa laughed loudly and coldly. "_I'm_ disgusting? Way to go, Jack-_ass_. You tell me I'm disgusting after you kidnap me, threaten to rape me, and--"

"Lisa," Jackson whispered coldly. "You are completely correct. You, unfortunately, forget that I hold the reigns in this situation, however. You are in my house, you are my captive, and I will do whatever I please." He was on the other side of the small marble kitchen island now. The fury surrounding him was suffocating, and Lisa backed away from him, around the other side of the island. He followed her movement, and soon they were circling each other around the countertop, the hunter and the hunted, and neither knowing which was which.

"Oh, so what you _please_ includes pounding on my door and begging me to let you in?" Lisa's voice took on a belittling tone. "Like you'd just _die_ if you didn't get to see me? Like you--"

"I thought I told you never to mention that again?" Jackson said conversationally from across the kitchen island. His voice was deceptively calm, the only emotion in it being cold, blue fury. Lisa sidestepped his attempt to dart around the corner of the white marble and they were back to being opposite each other.

"What are you going to do to stop me, huh, _Jack_? You can't control me, and I'll be damned if while I'm your _captive_ I'm going to just sit here and take your disgusting treatment. _You're_ the disgusting one, not _me_, Jack."

He growled and lunged at her, right across the island, grabbing her shoulders and yanking her until her face met his across the hard countertop. The edge of it dug into her stomach. There was one window in the large kitchen, right above the sink, and Lisa had a perfect view of the clouds outside. They were black and purple in the disappearing March sun and reminded her of bruises. And then Lisa was wrenched back to the present by Jackson shaking her.

She screamed, screamed until she could feel it drying in her throat and scraped at his face with her hands. He caught her flailing fingers and crushed them, pulling her around the island to face him. The scream dried up and withered to a gasp.

"Leese," Jackson said coldly. Her eyes were so wide and so very green, he thought sadly. Why did life have to throw them together in such a cruel way? "Get a grip on yourself." Even to his ears it sounded weak and useless. "I'm not going to put up with this pathetic screaming much longer."

Lisa kicked his shin and tried to wrench her hands from his grip. He grunted and hopped on one leg, still holding Lisa's hands. She struggled slightly and then gave up. Once more the shield was lying shattered at her feet. This seemed to be happening more and more often. "I hate you," she said hoarsely.

"I know," he replied, and something in his tone reminded her of the old Jackson that had been pounding on her door. This was the Jackson from the notebook. _This was the __Jackson__ that didn't exist,_ she told herself firmly.

"No, you don't know!" She brought her still-enclosed hand up and pounded it on his chest. "All you do is lie, and I hate it! I hate you!" She opened her mouth to ask a million questions, questions about what had happened only five hours ago, but it all seemed like such a distant dream that she wondered if she had imagined it all and exaggerated it in her memory, and began to believe that she had.

"I do know," he said calmly, absently stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb. "You hate me with all of your soul, on and on. I don't care." He did care, of course, but had abruptly realized that lying would be much safer. Much more difficult, but safer.

"What do you want?" Lisa finally asked wearily.

Honesty made a desperate bid for freedom before it was flattened.

"I don't know." Jackson let go of her hands and turned and walked away, leaving the lit stove behind him. Lisa stared at it uncomprehendingly for a long time.

_The battle had begun._

* * *

I'm not sure about this chapter. I've edited it a couple million times, I hope it's turned out ok. If you have a suggestion or are confused, please tell me in a review or something! 

I do think it's turned out ok, though. At least it's long enough:D


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for all the reviews! Please keep it up! _

**

* * *

Chapter 7 **

For the second morning in a row, Lisa Reisart found herself sitting on her bed and staring out the window. Gray clouds clustered at the horizon, undecidedly blocking out the sun. She was debating whether or not she should try escaping again and had finally came up with the idea that she simply needed Jackson's car keys. If she could get those, she'd be all set. Briefly she had mourned the fact that she would be leaving her own car behind, but she knew that there would be no way of getting her own keys. Jackson would have those safely hidden.

But after she escaped… Then what? She would just drive home? What if Jackson came back for her again?

_What if she regretted escaping?_

It was either that thought that frightened her or threatened her into action. Lisa could hear Jackson shuffling around down in the kitchen, a faint clang as a pan was dropped into the sink. She slowly opened her bedroom door and crept out into the bright wooden hallway. Different paintings lined the walls, each of a different landscape. For a moment Lisa stood and stared at them, and then her mind clicked into furious gear. She would not be a victim any longer. Anger sizzled inside her at that thought. She would not let her inability to hide any longer stop her from escaping.

Lisa didn't even think of Jackson. She didn't even recognize that she would be escaping from him. All she thought of now was getting out of this house, as if it were the cage that was keeping her in. Pride and embarrassment bubbled in her stomach at the weak way she had acted. What had happened to her strength? Lisa didn't know how to be strong without her protection, that little layer of dishonesty. And so now she was putting up a pretense of protection: She was being dishonest with herself instead of with other people.

_Now, where would I keep my car keys…_ She slowly headed across the hall and towards Jackson's office. The door creaked open and Lisa froze, listening. Distantly she could hear Jackson's footsteps leaving the kitchen. Adrenaline shot through her and she darted towards his desk, wrenching open the drawers and searching feverishly through them. Nothing. _Dammit!_ Lisa's mind screamed. She spun to the shelves behind her and there they sat, pristinely, next to… the notebook. Lisa snatched the keys off the shelf and then gasped. Jackson's footsteps had stopped. She heard him knock on her bedroom door and thanked God that she had at least closed it.

"Breakfast," she heard him call curtly. Then there was silence. _Please go back downstairs,_ she thought feverishly. _Please, please, please…_

"Leese…" More knocking. "Leese, don't make me come in there." Jackson was impatient now. Lisa was frozen. She didn't dare breathe.

"Lisa, I'm giving you one last chance. And then I'm coming in there and things are _not_ going to be pretty."

For reasons unknown to her, Lisa grabbed the notebook off the shelf behind her. She crushed the keys in her fist and crept towards the office door. If Jackson was in her room that would give her time to at least get past him down the hallway. She slowly slipped off her socks and rolled up the bottoms of her jeans, so they wouldn't get in the way of her ability to run. She heard the door wrench open across from hers and another shot of adrenaline sped through her. And then she was wrenching open the office door, and she was shooting down that seemingly never ending hallway. She heard Jackson's startled shout from behind her, but by then she was at the top of the staircase, and freedom was almost hers. She sped down the steps, stumbling slightly, Jackson's light footsteps behind her egging her on.

Lisa had just reached the third to last step when Jackson tackled her from behind. Both went tumbling to the ground and stars popped in front of Lisa's eyes. Jackson inwardly cursed whatever idiotic idea had possessed him to fill his entire house with hardwood. He was angry beyond belief. How dare Lisa try to leave! And damn it all, he didn't want her to—he was—he really was in love with her—he really was. And the black pit in his stomach only grew bigger and angrier as he admitted that he was hurt. After all this time, she still hated him. She really _had_ lied when she said that she loved him. And that thought was what set him off.

The notebook had gone sliding across the floor at Lisa's fall, and she was extremely grateful that she had stuck the car keys in her pocket; otherwise they might be in the same position. Jackson ignored the notebook, even though he had seen it, and grabbed Lisa's wrists and held them above her head.

"You little _bitch,_" he snarled, pinning her down with his body. Disappointment was coursing through his veins and only making him angrier. Lisa's eyes widened fearfully. This was _not_ the Jackson that had cried out against her door only yesterday. Oh, if only she had opened that door! Lisa realized abruptly she would not just be leaving this house, but Jackson as well, and a sick disappointment shot through her.

Jackson lifted up her wrists and slammed them violently back down on the wood again, and Lisa cried out in pain. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking? Even if you would've escaped, I'd have come back for you," he hissed, his eyes wild and almost feral with anger. "It wouldn't have been over, _Leese._ It'll never be over." He watched the fear in her eyes bloom bigger and bigger and felt sick with himself. He wanted alternately to protect her and hurt her, and at the moment, hurting her was strongest.

Lisa did exactly what she had done a year ago, when she was in this situation before. She spat up at Jackson, and this time, it landed directly in his eye. He gave a jerk and let go of her wrists to reach up and rub his now irritated eye. Lisa didn't waste any time. She brought her fist back as far as she could awkwardly go, lying as she was on the floor, and punched Jackson in the jaw so hard that his teeth clicked. He grunted and instinctively backed off her, and Lisa leapt up. She ignored the notebook and sprinted the last three steps towards the door and yanked it open. Jackson was behind her again, rubbing his bruised jaw. Lisa saw his shiny black Mazda sitting parked near the end of the deck and took off towards it, leaping off the edge of the soft, cherry varnished wood deck and over the patch of lavender that Jackson had kissed her in.

She reached the driver's side door and yanked it open, relief coursing through her. For a moment she had believed that the doors would be locked. Lisa leapt into the car and jammed the keys into the ignition. She was afraid to turn her head, afraid to see Jackson's raging eyes staring at her so hatefully from the outside the window. She turned her face away, in the opposite direction, and that was when she saw him. Instinct geared her into gunning the car and roaring out the driveway, but not before that image was burned into her vision for all eternity.

For Jackson had not chased Lisa all the way to his car, as she had thought. He had stopped at the edge of the porch, the edge where they had shared that kiss, and when Lisa had turned she had seen him still standing there. His black t-shirt was wrinkled and slightly dusty from the wood floor and his hand was on his bruised jaw. Lisa continued on down the driveway, the potholes rattling the car and sending muddy water splashing up and into little droplets on the windows. And still Jackson stood there, staring after her, reflected in the rearview mirror that Lisa couldn't seem to hide from.

Street signs flashed past Lisa as she drove, and it wasn't until after she had passed the McDonald's and the Condominium complex that she realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was. A kind of numbness had stolen over her once again, and she kept seeing Jackson's eyes in her head, and an odd, longing ache was slowly seeping into her. Lisa finally pulled into a Seven-Eleven gas station, not even thinking of what would happen if Jackson caught up with her, her brain reaching the fact that she had escaped and going no further than how she would get back home.

The bell on the gas station door jingled dully as Lisa walked in. Racks of chips, beer, and candy met her eyes, and at the far end of the store, working at the cash register, stood a tall, acne-faced teenaged boy who clicked his tongue ring against his teeth with seemingly every step Lisa took. She hurried towards him, already wanting to get out of this grimy place.

"Excuse me, where is the—uh—main highway out of—out of here?" She wished zit-face would stop clicking that damn tongue ring.

"I-96 is up that way," he said in a lazy, bored tone, pointing vaguely somewhere over his shoulder.

"What way?" asked Lisa, now irritated. "Could you find me a map, please? I need to get to Miami."

"Miami!" Zit-face gave a bark of laughter. "Well, ma'am, you're pretty dang far from there." He paused, mid-tongue ring click, thinking. "I'd say it's about nine hours from Folkston to Miami. Eight if you don't get traffic. Now there's a map over on--"

Lisa felt a vague fear. Folkston. Wasn't that in Georgia? So she really did have no idea where she was. And Jackson could be searching for her at this very moment. And yet she doubted that he really was, after—after—Lisa's mind stopped and jerked back to what zit-face was saying.

"—Past the condominium complex and take a right," he concluded, nodding his head. Lisa's mind jerked back to Jackson again. His house was nearby a Condo complex, wasn't it? No, it actually wasn't, you just drove past it on the way and—

"I'm sorry, what?" Lisa asked distractedly. The youth repeated his directions and Lisa bought a map on her way out. And then she collapsed in Jackson's car and stared at the paper with shaking hands. She had the overwhelming urge to cry, and started the car to keep herself occupied. It wasn't until she had finally figured out the directions on the map and entered the freeway that she realized tears were running quietly and softly down her face.

_You never really tried to leave, did you? You were too busy wondering if you were in love with Jackson to even consider it. You never even tried to talk to him, you managed to completely forget the fact that he tried to kill you; in fact the only thing you've questioned is why you were there. And you don't want to know the answer to that question, do you? Do you? Because you know you're still--_

Her mind had finally reached its limit and was forced into honesty. People can only ignore their feelings for so long. And when confronted with complete proof of them, it becomes even harder to hide.

Jackson stood on his porch and watched his car disappear quickly down the driveway until it was blotted out by the tall pines. He was paralyzed, his mind making up for the frozen state of his body by zipping through thoughts at a furious speed. His first was to call the police and tell them that his car had been stolen. Lisa would deserve that. But that would only draw attention to the fact that he had kidnapped her… And then Lisa's beaten-up blue Cadillac had appeared from the corner of his eye and he had wanted to crash it into those damn pine trees, those that had stolen Lisa away from him… And then he had hated Lisa, and then he had loved her, and then he had seen her fearful eyes in front of him, and wished he could crush the pain in them and hurt the one who had caused it.

_You caused it, you caused it, you caused it! _And then Jackson was angry at Lisa for making him feel regret, and his jaw gave an angry twinge as he clenched it. The door handle felt cold and useless in his grip and he wished he could break it into a million pieces. And then there was the notebook, its awful sea-green cover still lying face up on the floor, and doubt swished through his mind. _She tried to take that with her when she left, didn't she? Why would she want something of mine while she ran from me?_ Jackson knelt by the notebook and flipped through the pages. He was surprised to see some dog-eared, as if Lisa had marked them for her own reference. And then he read through what was written on those pages, and a hot flush of embarrassment shot through him. It really was more of a love letter, or, if it existed, an obsession letter. Lisa's face had been described too many times to be considered normal. Each of her little unique habits had been listed, the tone of her voice, even the way she dressed.

Jackson rocked back on his heels and buried his face in his hands. He would do better to leave things as they lay. He had already ruined enough. The stairs creaked underneath him as he made his way to his office, the notebook held gingerly in his hands. And then he saw the haphazardly opened drawers of his desk and Lisa's little balled up socks, still lying on the floor where she had left them, and he kicked the desk drawers closed and screamed every cuss word he knew until his mind could think of no more.

The notebook fell on the floor. Lisa was gone. And he wanted her back. And if she didn't come to him, he would go to her.

Lisa drove on and on until soon ten a.m. had faded to seven p.m., and she was hungry and tired and sad. But if Jackson had driven it all at once, then so could she. Lisa had taught herself not to rely on people. Yet her anger, her strength, and even her pride had disappeared. There was nothing nearby to fuel it, and when Lisa tried to use Jackson, her mind would only switch to that image of him standing on the deck and watching her. And when she tried to feel angry about the way he had slammed her into the wood floor, she could only summon up his oddly desperate eyes and a vague thought of, _You gave as good as you got._ And that was that. Lisa was forced to admit that even if she didn't want to need Jackson Montgomery, she was forced to need him, to need him to goad her into strength.

_The battle had been recognized as a battle. It could no longer be anything more or anything less. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for all the reviews!

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****Chapter 8**

Her house was just as it had been when she left, clean, neat, new-smelling. The magazines were still piled neatly on the coffee table, and Lisa flopped onto her soft couch and kicked at the pile dully, anything to disturb the orderliness. Her mind was anything but orderly. It was eleven o'clock at night and Lisa had work the next day. She supposed she had better call her father, maybe call her work partners, Cynthia, someone, tell them that she was back from her 'vacation'. The note from Jackson had still lying on the counter when Lisa returned home, and her father's untidy scrawl had been added to the bottom of it; his relief evident in his writing that she had gone on a vacation. He said he hoped she had a good time and didn't make any rush to come back.

…_Didn't make any rush to come back…_

Why _was_ she making such a rush to 'come back'? No one knew she had returned from her fake vacation yet, and why should they? For all they knew she was still gone. And so Lisa decided to wait a couple days, collect her thoughts; try once again to move on from the traumatic personality that was Jackson Montgomery.

As usual when he became intensely focused on something, Jackson forgot to plan for anything other than the expected. He decided he wanted Lisa right then and there, and at first, it was a fantasy, but it soon became a reality. All he had to do was go back and get her, right? And maybe, this time, he _could_ tie her up and he would _make_ her listen to him! Just what he had to say, Jackson wasn't quite sure, but he ignored this minor setback. He would think of something. And so, soon he had pulled Lisa's keys from their place in his wallet and set off in her Cadillac. He figured he would only be a couple hours after her. She might even be asleep when he arrived at her house, and then it would be easy to tie her up, and she would listen, and…

Around and around Jackson's thoughts swirled, the same vision repeating again and again. Of course, they all stopped at the same part, and then rewound and started again, never to go any further, but this didn't bother Jackson. He was determined. He knew what he was doing. Nothing could go wrong.

Lisa yawned and started up the thickly carpeted stairs towards her bedroom. The door silently opened. And then she saw the still wrinkled covers of her bed, and the hockey stick lying on the floor, and the one drawer in her bureau that was still slightly open and empty, and she whirled about and stumbled back down the stairs. She could not go back into that room. There was too much evidence of Jackson left in it. Lisa collapsed on the couch and pulled the navy throw blanket down on top of her and waited for sleep.

Dull headlights glared through the dusk and clouds could be seen, clumping thickly at the horizon. Jackson took a left down a residential street, palm trees lining one side of the road, and on the opposite side he saw Lisa's house. It was such a beautiful house, he reflected, and saw his car sitting in the driveway outside of it and decided that it belonged there. He parked across the street and walked quietly towards Lisa's front door. He silently walked up the wood steps and turned Lisa's key in the lock, and silently stepped into her home. There was a throbbing in his chest.

"Lisa," he said huskily into the dimness. He could see one of her hands draped across the top of the couch, idly twisting the fringe of the blanket. The hand stopped and froze. "Lisa," he said again, and stepped closer towards the couch.

_Why was he here? Why had he come back? Was revenge that important? _

_What if I was that important?_

Lisa was oddly numb. She felt hollow and afraid to see Jackson again. And yet here he was, and she really didn't want him to leave, she just wanted this wrenching ache in her chest to go away. Everything was just too unreal, she thought dully. Maybe she had dreamed this whole thing. She watched Jackson's dark figure appear in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," he said and shifted from one foot to the other. Through something blurry and wet, Lisa saw a dark figure sit on the edge of the couch, by her feet, and she slowly pulled herself upright and curled into a little ball.

"Get out of my house, Jackson," she said, her voice thick with tears.

"No, Lisa, I--" Jackson cleared his throat.

"Leave," came Lisa's muffled little voice. She buried her face in her knees to keep from looking at Jackson. She wished she had earplugs so she wouldn't hear the desperation in his voice.

"I--"

"Leave, leave, leave!" Lisa cried hysterically. "Leave! Just go, just leave, leave me alone…" She got up and stumbled towards the door. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob as Jackson stood, and for a moment she was tempted to block the door and not let him go. So he didn't care about her then.

Jackson stepped towards Lisa and stopped. The sunset had faded the room into near complete darkness, and he stood and stared down at her. There was a pounding in his ears and desperation clouded his thinking. Before Jackson knew what he was doing, he had strode towards Lisa and lifted her in his arms and thrown her over his shoulder like a rather large sack of potatoes. He locked the front door with Lisa's key, and then, still carrying a stunned Lisa, walked around the house and locked the back door.

"Did you know your doors locked from the inside, too, Leese?" he murmured. "You're trapped inside your own house now, Leese. You're not going anywhere, and neither am I."

Lisa struggled faintly in Jackson's grip and then sighed. Blood was rushing to her head from her upside-down position, and the only clear thought that seemed to be floating around in there was the knowledge that… Oh! Jackson was putting her down on the couch now, and thoughts came raining down on Lisa's mind so quickly that she couldn't decipher that one clear one anymore.

Jackson had felt a pleasant block come down on his mind just a few seconds ago, much like the empty sensation he experienced when he was about to kill someone. And then Lisa's crumpled face swam in front of his cold eyes as he set her on the couch, and the block shattered. Jackson slumped onto the coffee table across from Lisa and the magazines felt to the ground with a quiet _slip_.

"Oh, God, Lisa…" He buried his head in his hands and wondered if it was possible to die from guilt.

Shaken, Lisa stared at Jackson's slumped figure. The thoughts that had rained down on her mind had turned to a muddled pile of Confusion.

"What is wrong with me?" Jackson raised his head from his hands and looked straight at Lisa, his eyes hopeless and burning with something like defeat. "I'm going to leave now. I won't come here again. I… I promise you."

Jackson strode to the door and fumbled in his back pocket for the keys. Lisa heard the faint jingle as they were pulled out, heard the quiet creak as the door opened, the click as it closed. She heard the lock being clicked from outside and sighed. Then she realized that Jackson had taken her keys with him. Wearily, Lisa stood and started towards the door. Either this madness ended now, with nothing to bring Jackson back into her life, or it kept on going, forever and ever.

Lisa spun the lock and stepped out in the mild night air. The sun had completely set now, and only faint purple streaks tinged the horizon. The house across the street's solar-power lights had come on and one seemed to be broken, for it kept flickering. Jackson was standing on the edge of the lawn, the tips of his shoes on the sidewalk. His back was to Lisa and she stood on her steps and watched him. Above her head, the streetlamp clicked on.

Jackson glanced over his shoulder at the dimly lit figure of Lisa on the steps. He turned around and started towards her, stopping three feet away. He stared up at her in an almost dazed and delirious way and whispered, "Lisa… Please don't let me leave."

"Why did you kidnap me?" she asked back, her mind afraid to recognize what Jackson might've meant. She stepped down the remaining stairs to the house and stood right in front of him. Her heart seemed ready to thud right out of her chest at his nearness.

"I love you." Jackson took in a deep breath. "I wanted revenge from you, but I knew all along I'd never get it. Please believe me, Lisa. Please forgive me for… For all that I've done. Please love me."

"How can I forgive you?" Lisa asked hopelessly. "You're a murderer, Jackson. How—"

He grabbed her shoulders and stared fiercely into her eyes. "I'm not! My company thinks I'm dead, that's why I changed my name, you can forgive me! You can love me!" Jackson remembered the notebook. "I know you can, haven't you seemed to before? You can, please, Lisa… You can…"

Lisa just stared at Jackson, disbelief obvious in her eyes. "I thought you hated me."

"No," he said breathlessly. "No, Lisa. I was trying to hide from loving you. You're my only weakness, and if I ever hated you, that was why. Say you love me. I'm--"

"I can't trust you, Jackson."

"But you can learn to!"

Lisa stared up at Jackson, disbelief turning to relief, and she whispered, "I love you, Jackson."

He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her and kissed her until her mouth was swollen and both were gasping for air.

And yet…

And yet something at the back of her mind kept prodding her, and she knew she needed to satisfy it, but things were so perfect right now, she didn't want to disrupt anything. Inwardly, though, deep down, she knew. How can you trust someone who has tried to kill you, no matter how long ago it was? How can you trust someone who seems to care about you one minute, and the next, hate you? How it is possible?

Distrustfulness was nothing new to Lisa. She had lived too much of her life with it, and so now, when she really had reason to be distrustful and cautious, she brushed her reasoning away with a sort of rebellion and ignored what she had been taught to trust most: herself. _I'm too alone!_ Her mind screamed. _I can learn to forgive, to trust, to believe in people again!_ And Lisa knew she loved Jackson, and she was afraid to lose that. He pulled her closer and she buried her face in his warm, hard, _safe_ chest and thoroughly ignored each and every one of her fears.

"I love you, Lisa Reisart," Jackson murmured into her hair. "I'll—I'll love you until the day I die, and maybe after that, and…" He paused. "I feel like an idiot." Lisa laughed and he bent his head and kissed her, and before the outside world became completely empty to Lisa, empty except for her and Jackson, a little doubt whispered, _what will happen now? What will happen…_

Next door, in the house with the flickering solar light, Dr. Jones scratched his bald head and yawned. Another man stood at the window looking out on Lisa's house, his back to Jones. The man was tall and thin. He had chin-length black grungy hair, and from the back all you could see was his oddly out of place and loose-fitting black suit. The man shifted on his feet.

"Well, he does seem to be… Alive…?" Dr. Jones ventured nervously. His large eyes blinked owlishly and he seemed to stare in childlike wonder at the other man's back.

"Of course he's alive, you fool," the man spat. "You can't have expected Rippner to just up and die. God, I still can't believe you fell for it that first time. You almost got your ass fired from that hospital job, and all because of some faulty equipment? I expect you to be much more professional this time, moron."

"Sir, I'm really not sure…"

"Look," said the man impatiently. "We really can't afford to lose Rippner. He took some of our best men with him in his little fake death. And now we're getting fucking _blacklisted_ by our customers for the last bungled job. We need Rippner, dammit! Either you get him to come back, or you get him to come back. Got it?"

"But sir… What if I… _don't_ get him to come back? He seems quite happy where he is, surely--"

"Dammit, Jones! What about get him _fucking back and working with us_ don't you understand? Honest to God, how in the _hell_ did I get saddled with such a moron?" The man flicked at a fly that was resting outside the window pane. A dull thunk echoed throughout the empty house. "I don't give a shit what you do! As long as it's nothing as stupid as notifying the newspapers of a death that didn't happen, _I don't give a shit!_ Threaten that bitch he seems so fascinated by, _I don't care!"_

"Alright," Jones said dully. "How soon should I have him back at HQ by?"

"Give him six months," the man replied thoughtfully. He started towards the door and stopped, his back still to Jones. "And for God's sake, try not to get as much notice this time, alright?"

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A/N: This is most likely the end of the story. I'm debating whether or not I should do a sequel, which will take place about 15 years after this chapter, or whether I should just do the 'sequel' thing as part of this story. I think it will make more sense to do it as a sequel, though. 

Please tell me what you'd prefer I do! And your thoughts on this chapter would be great, too! Thank you! 


	9. Chapter 9

_Alright, I've finally figured out what I'm doing! I've decided to continue this story and not do this chapter as a sequel; I've changed a lot of things I was going to have in this story. So here is finally the next chapter!

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**Chapter 9**

_One month later_

Lisa had woken up that morning after to find a cold bed and an even colder life, as corny as it sounded. She didn't even bother to think. She went back to work the very next day, numb and unfeeling. Her mind oddly refused to recognize what had happened, and it would've probably stayed in that dormant state if it wouldn't have been for that damn broken pipe.

She arrived at work on time. Cynthia waved warmly, albeit frantically, to her from the reception desk. Lisa stared at her numbly. She felt raw and exposed and foolish. She had known this would happen. Oh, she had known. She was so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid. Her brain fought for words other than this and lost. Stupid.

"I'm so glad you're back! Where have you been?" Cynthia cried as Lisa stepped behind the desk and began to punch her password into the computer. "I've really needed you; we've got O'Hannessy coming on the sixth and only three weeks to prep for him! Oh, I'm so glad you're back, I know what happened with Keefe was so long ago but I still get creeped when--"

"O'Hannessy?" Lisa interrupted dumbly.

"Yes! The Secretary of State? I'm supposed to start setting up stronger surveillance in his suites immediately, but I'm so swamped here, could you please…?"

"Sure." Lisa nodded. Stupid.

Cynthia paused for breath and peered at her curiously. "You know, I'm really glad you're back. But are you alright? You look really--"

"I'm fine!" Lisa hurried off down the hall and towards suites 601 and 602. She finally reached the elevator and sagged against the wall. And still her brain refused to think. She reached the suites and then realized she had completely forgotten to bring her laptop. Ding! Went the elevator as she arrived back downstairs, grabbed her bag from the manager's office, and then started back up in the elevator again. Finally she reached the suite and sank down on one of the queen beds inside. She would have to have plumbing and appliances checked tomorrow, and then maybe on Tuesday she could get the new cameras installed and running, if Blake, the surveillance manager, was going to be working… She typed him a quick notice. On and on the list went, and Lisa was so thankful for the fact that her mind didn't need to think about _him_ that she didn't even notice the little droplets of water falling on her.

She'd have to move the Meriweathers to around the corner of the hall, and then she could have the whole hallway free for Keefe—What? Not Keefe, Jacks—O'Hannessy. _O'Hannessy._ She was just tired, that was why she couldn't think, thank goodness for that water to wake—_water?_ Lisa's head jerked up and to the ceiling. A large dark spot was growing in the tiled ceiling by the second, water dripping from the center. Slowly, as she dumbly watched, the center of the wet spot began to bow in the middle, and a crack began to appear from which more water dripped. _The pipes…!_ Was Lisa's last coherent thought before a mess of mushy tile and water dumped right onto her head. She gasped, stricken, and her mind finally woke up and she began to cry, soundless tears that she could no longer ignore.

Cynthia gasped as she was confronted with a sobbing and very wet Lisa in front of the main reception desk. Customers stared curiously. Surely that mad woman didn't work here.

Two minutes later someone was sent to see to the busted pipe in the ceiling of suite 601 and some other lucky person was working alone at the Luxe Atlantic reception desk. Lisa was wrapped in a towel and sitting numbly inside her office. Cynthia handed her a microwaved and lukewarm cup of tea and Lisa stared at it.

"What happened?" Cynthia asked softly. They both knew she wasn't talking about the pipe. And Lisa told her the whole story, finishing with the fact that she had admitted she loved him and he had left her the very next day; in fact, before she had even woken up. Cynthia stared at her.

"He's the guy that tried to kill Keefe?" she asked incredulously.

Lisa nodded miserably. "But his company thinks he's dead now, and he told me he doesn't work for them anymore, so…"

"So." Cynthia tried to nod. "So. So… So he said he loves you?"

"It was probably just his way of getting revenge," Lisa said bitterly. "You know, get her to say 'I love you', sleep with the girl, leave the next day. Revenge."

"Oh, Lisa," Cynthia reached out and gave her an impulsive hug. "I feel so horrible for you. I don't know what to say. This is like some awful soap opera or something."

Lisa smiled weakly. It was an odd relief to think again, and to know that she wasn't filled with just these thoughts, but that she had someone else to talk about them with.

And so a month passed after that first day back at work, in which Lisa had a considerably less amount of weight on her shoulders than she might have. Cynthia was a better friend than Lisa could've imagined, and she grew to rely on her and trust her, the most she had ever trusted anyone. Jackson was not often in her thoughts; she tried not to think of him at all. Certain things would remind her of him, however, things like rainstorms and smooth wooden floors and lavender bushes and notebooks. But she had gotten over her rape and by God; she would get over Jackson Montgomery. Never mind that she knew her reasoning made absolutely no sense. It was much less painful.

It was the day that O'Hannessy, the secretary of state, arrived, that things fell apart.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Jackson woke up that wonderful morning after expecting to have Lisa asleep beside him. Instead, he was in a cold and airless moving _thing_ that seemed to have been once a U-Haul. His wrists were chained to a metal bar on one side of the metal box he was enclosed in and he wondered briefly if this was what furniture felt like. His mind couldn't seem to wrap itself around the fact that Lisa was gone. She had just been there, and then—oh God, what if she had been killed? Where the fuck was he, anyway? And—

His company.

That was the only explanation possible. They had discovered he wasn't dead, after all, and they wanted revenge. All at once Jackson realized how very stupid revenge was. His mind was filled with Lisa. Was she alright? Was she alive? Had she woken up, alone, betrayed, hurt, and hating him? And everything had just begun to work out! Anger and disappointment bubbled up inside of him and he banged his feet against the cold metal floor and roared out, _"Come and fucking kill me, you bastards! Come and fucking kill me!" _

Actually, that was what he wanted to say. That's what he was dreaming he had said right now, a month later.

Jackson sat straight up in his bed in the wonderful headquarters he had used to believe was a home, and sweat beaded up on his chest and upper lip. Alertly he surveyed his surroundings. He was in a bleak room, bleak only because Lisa wasn't there. _Life_ was bleak without Lisa, a dull existence that had been exactly what he had dreaded. A life without feeling, eternal coldness. He was in what might've been a nice hotel room. Across the room sat a large television and a dark green couch. Around the corner were a bathroom and a kitchenette.

There was a reason Jackson was imprisoned at headquarters. Dr.—or no, he wasn't a doctor, he was just a fool—Jones had never been the type to cautiously plan something out. He had received orders to get Jackson to headquarters, Jackson was just across the street, hence the job could be done in a couple seconds and Jones could go back to doing whatever he did. Jackson hated him. He had been drugged and shoved into a truck and sent back to a job he didn't know how he could've ever loved by that awful, idiotic, blundering, moron. When had Jones started working for the company after all? It must've been sometime after Jackson's botched job.

Jackson ran his hands through his hair until it stood up straight. How could he have ever loved this life? He didn't think he ever had. Maybe he had been fueled by revenge all along. Who knew? It didn't matter now. What mattered was that Lisa would be killed if he tried to leave. If she wasn't already dead. But it wasn't worth risking, besides the fact that he would be killed as well. He looked at the clock by his bed. Five-thirty a.m. Time to get up. The job was going into play today. He would finish it, and then maybe they would let him go, maybe just go _see_ Lisa. Just see her, his mind repeated. Just see her. He forgot to care about any other lives beside his and hers.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Lisa stood with her clipboard and special key outside the side doors of the Luxe Atlantic, used for VIPs only. It was five-thirty a.m. and she inwardly cursed the schedules of the secret service agents protecting O'Hannessy. Did they really think getting here so damn early would stop anyone from hurting them? If someone really wanted to, they would, after all, Jackson had nearly succe—

"Hello, welcome to the Luxe Atlantic," she said smoothly as a whirlwind of bodyguards and such swept past her, somewhere in their midst the Secretary of State. A tall man stopped in front of her and she thankfully lead his 'party' to the suite. Her head was pounding like a drum. Why, of all days, did today have to be the one month anniversary of when Jackson had—_Don't say it,_ she reprimanded herself. _Don't even think it. He doesn't matter. He doesn't matter!_ But why… why had he left? Why? It tortured her, because a little part of her believed that he really had loved her, hadn't ever meant to leave, and she worried. For some reason the fear of his death was stronger than the fear that he had really just wanted revenge all along. But no, that was just Jackson through and through, she shouldn't imagine any of that, reality would eventually hit her and she could not let it hurt her.

Unfortunately, reality was due to hit her sooner than she expected.


	10. Chapter 10

**I am sooo sorry for the long time between updates! I know this is sort of short; I just wanted to get it up. Please don't hate me! Things (in the story and in the updates) will speed up once I get out of school!

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**Chapter 10**

Jackson slowly and reluctantly climbed into the white van in front of him. "Come on," grumped an impatient voice behind him, followed by a jab in the back.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Faber," Jackson said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Man, you've gone soft," Carl Faber, second-manager in chief and old 'friend' to Jackson Montgomery, said indignantly. "Why did you have to pull that 'killing everybody' act? You know you snuffed Jacobs?"

Jackson rested his head against the inside wall of the van. It was oddly empty, except for a driver's seat, transmission box, and another large box that looked to be a toolkit in the back. Jackson glanced out the window as Carl climbed into the driver's seat. Carl was a big, burly man, with close-cropped hair that made him look slightly like a thumb. Really, Jackson couldn't stand him. He had never had friends or anything remotely resembling them. He hadn't needed them or wanted them then, and he didn't now, either.

"I don't give a fuck about Jacobs," Jackson said loudly as the van rumbled to life. "I don't give a fuck about anything. I hate this."

"Man, stop saying that," Carl winced. "You brought this on yourself. You're the one that botched a job and didn't even bother to make up for it."

"Make up for it?" Jackson laughed loudly and unnaturally. _"Make up for it?_ Who the fuck are you kidding, Faber? Like they wouldn't have killed me or something? God," Jackson wrapped his hands around the back of his neck and tried not to hit his head as the van bumped over a pothole.

"Would you stop saying that?" Carl said uncomfortably.

"Fuck," Jackson said loudly. Carl twitched. Jackson laughed again and Carl's neck tensed. "You know what?"

"Not really," Carl said nervously.

"I think I've--" Suddenly, a loud crackle interrupted Jackson. The red light on the transmission box blinked rapidly as a voice crackled out from it.

"Watch it, Rippner," sang the voice mockingly.

"_Montgomery_," corrected Jackson.

There was a delicate pause from the box. And then, "Look, you finish this job, then you're done. We'll find somebody else."

"Bullshit. If you were going to find someone else, you would've by now. Tell me," Jackson paused. "Tell me why you went to all the trouble to get me back and working for you. And tell me why you've fired most of your _employees_ and moved our company down from one of the largest in the country to the smallest. And tell me--"

"Jackson, Jackson," The voice hissed and a bit of Jackson's anger began to ebb to fear. "That's quite a lot of questions. Questions that really make no difference to you or your… ah… _mission._ Now, if you would like to get through this alive, and if you would like your pretty little girlfriend's heart to continue beating, I would _shut up._ You--"

Jackson kicked out at the transmission box and it gave a dull click and the red light faded out. He sat very still and stared out the window. Carl coughed quietly in the front seat. "As I was saying… You killed Jacobs and…"

"And as I was saying, I don't care that I killed Jacobs! It was either his life or—Oh my God," Jackson inhaled sharply. "I killed Jacobs. What is going on around here?"

"We've been under a new boss ever since," Carl said dully. "None of us have even seen him. And we're all stuck here. He's already killed everyone that tried to leave." A muscle stiffened in Jackson's neck and Carl watched it in the rearview mirror. "He's turned the entire company into his own personal vendetta, I think. We don't even have _customers_ anymore!" Carl sounded scandalized. Jackson closed his eyes.

"This is insane," he said softly. The van rounded a bend in the road and the now broken transmission box slid against the wall of the van.

Carl tried to laugh loudly and the sound was fake, and Jackson chewed the inside of his lip because he could hear the fear behind it. Fear reverberated through the car and wrapped its suffocating tentacles around Jackson's throat, and vividly he knew what it was like to be forced to do something against your will. Wasn't it ironic, he thought dryly. Wasn't it ironic that he was experiencing the exact same thing that he had put Lisa through when they very first met?

He was working for a company that wasn't even a company anymore. He was being forced to kill someone, work for a job that he had quit, and if he didn't, his life would be stolen and Lisa's as well. He was under the same threats that he had put on everyone else.

Lisa yanked off her heels and rubbed her already sore feet. Seven-thirty and she was already on her fifth cup of coffee. That couldn't be a good sign. Cynthia ran past her and Lisa watched with an amused expression as she juggled her pager and laptop. Just a week ago, Cynthia had been promoted to Head of Conference Management, which basically meant that now that a VIP was here she got to deal with his every want and need. Lisa, as Front Office Manager, found herself stuck behind the reception desk and envied Cynthia's escape. The phone rang loudly and Lisa winced.

"Luxe Atlantic, this is Lisa."

"Hi I need to—Lisa? Lisa Reisart?"

There was only one person with that voice. That voice she silently still ached for and yet never wanted to hear again.

"Lisa…" Jackson whispered. Lisa slammed down the phone. She stared at it, her hands shaking. That had not just happened. She had imagined it. A woman came hurriedly up to the desk with two fighting children and a teenage boy in tow and Lisa distracted herself with pasting on a smile and giving them their rooms. She was halfway through telling them how to get to the pool from their rooms when the phone rang again. Without a thought, she lifted it up and set it back down again. The woman gave her a surprised look.

"The phones…" Lisa said sweetly. "This one hasn't been working properly lately. Lots of wrong numbers."

The woman left and, seeing the lobby empty of customers—for the moment—Lisa sank down onto the ground behind the desk. More coffee. That was what she needed. More—the phone rang again.

"Luxe Atlantic, this is Lisa," her voice was a whisper.

"I need to reserve room 613," said a gruff voice. Lisa sighed with relief and disappointment. "Is that available?"

"Let me check," she scrolled through rooms on her computer. This could prove to be a bit of a problem, she had wanted to keep that entire hall free for the Secretary of State… Oh wait, 613 was around the corner. That would have to work. "Yes, it's free. What days will you be staying?"

"Today until--" There was a loud shuffling from the other end of the phone.

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry," the man said shortly. "Until Friday. Three days. Under the name--" There was a loud clunk and Lisa heard a muffled shout. "Fiper!" Shouted the man. Lisa blinked but typed the name into the computer. Just once, she would like to have a conversation over the phone with someone normal. "Thank you!" Shouted the man and Lisa slowly set the phone down to more bumps and clunks. The phone was almost to the set when shouting was heard from it. Cautiously Lisa lifted it to her ear again.

"—don't want you risking my ass, too! Stay away from her!" Carl shouted.

"I don't care about your ass, Faber! Give me the damn phone! LISA!" Jackson shouted at the phone. "LISA! Don't hang up!" With a terrific tug, he pulled the battered cell phone from Carl and crawled to the back of the van. Carl swore but continued driving.

"Are you there? Lisa?"

"Who is this?" Her voice was cautious.

"Jackson! Please, Lisa, just listen to me, I--"

Memories came rushing back and with them, pain. She slammed the phone down and stared unseeingly in front of her. She had just reserved a room for Jackson Montgomery.

Lisa was feeling-less. To escape from the pain, she resorted to accepting it, and from accepting it, came hopeless bitterness. Her finger lingered over the 'Cancel Reservation' button but something stopped her. Wasn't this ironic? She wanted to laugh with the irony. She forcefully jerked her hand away and stared at the computer screen. Well, this was it. She was bound to run into Jackson again sooner or later, Lisa thought bitterly. Why keep running from the inevitable? And then, maybe they would see each other again, and she could move on. _I've got to move on,_ Lisa's brain repeated. _I've got to stop being so stupid. I meant nothing and I won't—won't—won't waste my time. I've just got to move on…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Edited! Heavily!**

**I am sooo sorry about this. Since I'm near the end of the fic, I really wanted this chapter to be right, and the other one just… definitely wasn't. Sorry for any inconvenience, Chapter 12 will be up soon; this chapter is completely different than it used to be. Once again, sorry!**

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* * *

Chapter 11**

Lisa's heels clicked on the pavement as she headed towards her car. She would go home, make herself a plate of eggs—no, no, cereal, something besides eggs—and she would think, she decided. She would figure this out. Reality was finally hitting her, just as she had known it would, had feared it would, and her protection needed to be back but she was having trouble finding it. Lisa so badly wanted to see things how Jackson must've seen them, so then she could understand without a doubt what had really happened and she could move on. She wanted to face 'reality' and see things how they were, and not how she must've imagined them, because she had been so sure, _so sure,_ that he loved her…

_But he didn't,_ she told herself firmly. _It was revenge, all along; I put meanings on things he probably used as revenge tactics. _

The disappointment, the hurt, the betrayal, threatened to overwhelm her. She was drowning in pain and all she wanted was to move on and leave it all behind, so it could never hurt her again, just sit like pieces of luggage left on the side of highway while she drove away.

Lisa's mind couldn't even wrap itself around the fact that she really loved Jackson and no amount of moving on would leave that behind. She didn't think of that part.

The real blow was that she had wanted to trust him. And she hadn't realized how close to the border of trusting him she was. But now all her roots had been ripped up and she was left feeling like it was almost her fault, because she had put herself out for risk, hadn't she? Nothing good ever came from trusting people, and she, of all people, should have known that. She had been hurt again after promising herself that it would never happen again.

But she couldn't help wondering, a small whispering voice in the back of her mind that she wanted to ignore because hope was not reality and could only hurt her at this point, _Why did he try to talk to me on the phone? Why did he sound like he cared? Why? And I can trust Cynthia… _

_What if Jackson was right? What if it really is out of my control? _

Lisa reached her car and fumbled with her keys. Parking lots still made her nervous and her eyesight had steadily become fuzzy with tears as she thought. She wiped at her tears frustratedly and dropped her purse.

"Excuse me," came a gravelly voice behind her. Startled, Lisa forgot her purse and whirled around. A man stood behind her, less than three feet away. He had longish lank black hair and a thin face and a loose fitting suit. In the twilight, his eyes seemed to gleam with menace. Lisa's heart quickened and her eyes darted around the empty-except-for-cars parking lot. Why did she have to park at the back today, and away from the employee spots? She kept her eyes on the man as she bent and fumbled for her purse.

"Miss Reisart, I do… ahm… _beg_ that you continue to face me."

Lisa's eyes widened and she gripped her purse and slowly stood upright. She carefully felt for her keys.

"Miss Reisart, I would also suggest that you put your purse down. You are not going to find your keys."

Fear was beginning to crash around somewhere in Lisa's stomach. She had never seen this man before in her life. "How do you know my name?" She asked tersely.

"Why, it's written on your nametag, Lisa Henrietta Reisart."

Lisa took a step backwards and towards her car. "How do… How do you know that?"

The man smiled and took a step towards her. She fumbled frantically in her purse.

"I already told you that you wouldn't find your keys. I have them. Now, if you'll just calm down, I'd really like to ask you a few questions. Sev Ronning, pleased to meet you." He extended a hand which Lisa stared at. He sighed. "Alright, I see that you're going to make this difficult. I'm sorry about this." And then Lisa felt a pierce in her ankle, and everything went black.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Jackson leaned against the inside wall of the van as it rounded a corner and stopped in front of a light. He and Carl hadn't said a word since the disastrous—as Jackson considered it—phone call. They were almost to the Luxe Atlantic now; Jackson could see the setting sun glinting off the huge building in the distance. At first, during the long hours in the van and the numbness growing in his butt, he had only thought of his relief that Lisa was alive. But now that he knew her death wasn't an empty threat, relief was beginning to fade to worry again.

Carl finally voiced Jackson's thoughts. "You know, he was keeping tabs on that phone. I'm sure he recorded that call." He said it with a kind of smugness that made Jackson want to slap him.

"God, we're not even getting paid," Jackson muttered, trying not to scream. He felt as if a cage of threats was slowly closing in and suffocating him, and it just made him angrier. "Why the fuck are we doing this?"

Carl tensed in the front seat. The van rounded a corner and started up the street to the Luxe Atlantic. "I think it's better to follow his wishes," he said darkly.

Jackson laughed coldly. "You coward. So what, now we're killing someone just because _he_ doesn't like them? Hell, do we even know _his_ name? What the fuck are we supposed to be so afraid of? As far as I'm concerned, _he's_ working alone, and what was our company is dead. There's nothing _left_, Faber." An angry and yet somehow rational idea began to form in his mind. "You know we're never going to escape him. What's he done, killed off every other person that decided they didn't want to follow his half-assed plans? I'm going to kill him. I'm going to end this." In a generous moment he offered, "You want to help me?"

Carl didn't say anything.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

When Lisa woke up, it was to find herself in a room that looked oddly familiar. She stared at the ceiling of Room 613 in a dazed way and then sat bolt upright. Oh God. This was the room she had reserved for Jackson. This was the room that man had taken her to. She was such a fool! Finally everything made sense. She had only thought of seeing Jackson and not of what he could do… And what he was doing was obviously coming here to kill someone again. And she was stuck in the middle of it. Oh God. It had to be O'Hannessy. And he was just down the hall!

"Shit!" Lisa leapt up from the bed she was laying across. Stars popped in her eyes at the sudden movement but she blinked them away. She reached the door to the bedroom and yanked on it. Nothing happened. She was locked inside a hotel bedroom while Jackson went to kill someone. This explained everything. He had never loved her, it had all been revenge, and now that he needed the hotel and knew that she would be the only one to suspect him, he wanted her out of the way. That explained why he had tried to talk to her on the phone. Probably trying to threaten her into leaving the hotel.

Oddly enough, she didn't even think of the hurt she should be feeling. She was just numb.

What had possessed her to reserve this room? No one would accidentally come in now that it was believed someone was staying in it. _I reserved a room for my own kidnapping!_ Lisa ran over to the window of the bedroom and looked down. She was six floors up; there was no way she could… She looked around for a telephone, but of course they had removed it. The bedroom was bare except for a bed and the little table beside it. Wait a minute…

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

The van rolled to a stop outside the Luxe Atlantic. Carl still hadn't said anything and Jackson was beginning to grow nervous. He felt a vague unease that he had told Carl that he planned to kill their new boss, but pushed it aside. Faber was a dumbshit anyways. Jackson grabbed the toolkit like box from the back and moved towards the door. He tugged on it. "Come on, Faber, unlock the doors. Let's go."

Slowly Carl turned around. _Shit._ Jackson fumbled for the catch on the door that would unlock it. An odd, almost frantic light gleamed in Carl's eyes as he pulled a gun from his coat pocket. "You're not going to kill him."

Jackson looked from the gun to Carl and his hate for this entire situation only grew. "Oh, fuck you," he spat.

Something changed in Carl's eyes and they were selfish now, selfish and scared. "You wouldn't understand," the hand holding the gun began to shake slightly. "You haven't seen what he's done! You came in late, you escaped most of it, you—I made it this far!" His voice was reaching an almost hysteric cry. And then, suddenly, with determination, "And I'm not going to let you ruin that." The hand holding the gun steadied.

_Shit!_ Jackson fumbled frantically for the catch now. It had to be right here—No… _Shit!_

"So you're going to kill me," Jackson said conversationally, still searching for the catch. "Don't you think that that might disappoint your boss?" Carl blinked but the gun remained steady. "You've always been a coward." And Jackson threw the toolkit at him as hard as he could. He slammed his fist against the catch and threw the door open and bolted out of the car, running, mindlessly running.

Like a firecracker loaded with fifteen pounds of TNT, the toolkit exploded on impact. Jackson was knocked to the asphalt pavement as shrapnel from the car flew everywhere. He lay very still for two seconds, and then he was up and running towards the hotel, his mind filled with Lisa. He had to make sure she was safe.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Lisa swung the small bedside table at the door for what felt like the hundredth time. She had only created a very small crack at the lower part of the door and she felt frustrated enough to cry. Sighing, she leaned against the window. Suddenly a slightly muffled _boom_ filled the air and Lisa jumped. They had done it! They had killed him! _Oh God!_ She slumped against the window and peered out of it. A large reddish-black cloud was rising up through the air, beneath it the remains of what looked like a car. Lisa could see a man running towards the hotel. She watched him vaguely. Had they blown up O'Hannessy in his car? At the back of the parking lot? What the hell? Shouts filtered to her from the hallway and she renewed her pounding on the door.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Jackson came in the front doors of the hotel just as three security guards flew out them and towards the wreckage of the car. He ran towards the unusually empty front desk, slowing at the odd looks given him by other guests. Cynthia, who was working a double shift, stopped at the sight of him. She had never seen Jackson before but the sight of a man covered in scrapes and little bits of dust and gravel was enough to make anyone look twice.

"Can I… help you?"

Jackson recognized her. This had to be Cynthia, Lisa's friend from work… "Lisa Reisart! I need to find her! Where is she?"

Cynthia blinked. "Um, I'm sorry sir; she got off work an hour ago. But I can leave her a message if you--" Jackson had already whirled around and out the doors. A taxi, he needed a taxi, then he could get to her house and—Jackson walked right past Lisa's car and stopped. _Shit, shit, shit!_ An awful suspicion grew clearer and clearer in his head and he ran back towards the hotel. He was almost to the doors when he stopped. A man was leaning against the pillar outside the doors, watching Jackson as he ran. Jackson slowed to a walk and gave the man a look as he neared him.

"Jackson Rippner." Jackson stopped and whirled around. It was the same voice that had come from the transmission box. His mind made connections rapidly.

"Hello," he said calmly. "Where do you have Lisa Reisart?"


	12. Chapter 12

**NOTE: If you haven't already, go back and re-read Chapter 11! It is completely different! **

Thank you so much for all the reviews, they make me so happy. Sorry that this chapter took such a pathetically long time. 

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Chapter 12 **

Lisa pounded on the bedroom door until she thought she would collapse. The voices had drifted past her now and on down the hall. Lisa pressed her ear to the door, listening, and then threw back her head and screamed for all she was worth. She knew it was useless. She had kept the entire hall empty for O'Hannessy and there was no one occupying either of the rooms next to her. Screaming was really only for her benefit at this point. She renewed her attack on the door.

Standing outside the door of hotel room 613, Sev motioned to Jackson. "Does she sound okay to you?"

Jackson simply stared at him. Another muffled scream filtered to him through the walls and he clenched his fists. "Why don't you just lead me to the supplies you have for O'Hannessy's death and I'll get this over with?" he spat.

"I already gave you the supplies. They were in the van with you, dumbshit. Speaking of which, where's your associate?"

"I'm wondering," Jackson began sarcastically, "why, since you are _so_ much smarter than… ahm… anyone else… Why you aren't just completing this job yourself, sir?"

Sev blinked at him, his expression unwavering, and then he said, "All in due time. You didn't answer my question. What did you do with the supplies?"

"I used it." Jackson said shortly. All in the hotel room next to them was quiet. Jackson fought the urge to break down the door and grab Lisa.

Sev nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "You used it. You _used_ it. _Fuck._" He started off down the hall and towards the elevator. "Okay, Rippner, if this is your idea of trying to escape from a job, I'm going to ignore it. You are finishing this job, dammit! God, I've never known you to try to escape a job before…" He trailed off delicately.

Jackson whirled around. "You've never known me to…!" He repeated incredulously. "What in the hell are you talking about? You've been the self-appointed boss for about a year; you've never known me to do _anything!_ You're insane!"

Pure loathing danced across Sev's face briefly, darkening his eyes to black, and then his face was blank once again. He seemed to survey Jackson for a second, and then he started towards the elevator again. "Your screaming girlfriend will never make a sound again if you keep this up. You're going to come to my room, where I will give you a gun. You will not use it on me, because if you do, the remote inside the gun will be activated and your girlfriend will be history, along with the room she's stuck in." Sev turned around to watch the effect of his words. Jackson stood stone-faced. The elevator doors opened and both stepped in. "Any questions?" Sev asked, a sickly smug note to his voice.

Jackson didn't want to say anything, didn't want to show that any of this mattered, but… "How do I know the remote won't go off when I shoot the gun at O'Hannessy?"

Sev smiled wider. "Oh, so you _do_ care!" He exclaimed in mock surprise. "Don't tell me… You love her, don't you?" Cold fury grew in Jackson's eyes and Sev laughed. "Don't worry about your little girlfriend; I'll deactivate the remote as soon as I see that you really are going to follow through." The elevator doors slid open and Sev walked to a room across the hall. He opened the door and Jackson followed him into a room littered with junk. Old napkins lay scattered across the carpet, each seemingly covered in writing, and the closed curtains of the room cloaked everything in gloom. Jackson felt a sudden rush of sympathy for anyone who worked in a hotel.

"God, you ever hear of using paper?" he muttered. Sev turned and looked at him, then went back to rummaging through a suitcase he had next to the unmade bed. Finally he turned around, two guns in his hand. He handed Jackson one. "When did I become a hit man?" Jackson asked in disgust.

"The day you blew up your associate," Sev closed the suitcase and stood up. "The original plan was for Faber to play the part of one of O'Hannessy's security guards, but now that's your job. I'm watching you on one of the security cameras I tapped so don't try anything. Now go." He gestured with his gun.

"I'm just wondering why it is that you want to have O'Hannessy taken out when you have no customers. I mean, we're not getting paid…" _Put down the gun,_ Jackson willed Sev. _Put down the gun…_

"What a surprising question," Sev smiled in a way that made the room seem darker. Jackson impatiently watched the gun droop slightly in his hand. "I should've known you'd care about the money." The gun was hanging loosely at his side now. "Unfortunately, I regret that this mission might be… ah… What's the word? Personal," He smiled again and Jackson brought back his fist and punched him as hard as he could. Sev crumpled to the ground and Jackson grabbed the gun held limply in his hand and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He regretted that he had no key to lock it. Jackson slammed his now sore fist against the elevator button and waited impatiently. _Come on, come on…!_ The doors slid open and he leapt in.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Lisa was beginning to give up. Her hands were bruised from pounding on the door and one of the legs on the table had broken off. She collapsed against the bedroom door and buried her head in her knees, too tired to even cry. She was never going to get out. O'Hannessy would die, and Jackson would never even care, she would never even see him… Lisa sat bolt upright as a loud thud echoed through the air. She leapt to her feet, grabbing the broken table leg as a weapon. The noise was too near her to have been for O'Hannessy, and so that meant that they were coming for her, they were going to kill her… _Oh God!_ Lisa heard a hand fumbling on the doorknob, and her heart beating so hard she thought it would rip out of her chest, she moved to behind the door and held the table leg above her head like a bat. The door slowly opened and she leapt out and began to bring the leg crashing down when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her around the door and from the room. Lisa brought the table leg down on part of the door frame. "Shit!"

She heard a laugh and the arm tightened around her waist. She brought the table leg back again and almost in slow motion, her eyes found her captor's face and her hand stopped in mid-air. An avalanche of thoughts crashed through her mind as she stared into Jackson's blue eyes. And then her grip tightened on the leg again and it began to move through the air once more. Jackson's eyes flicked up to the piece of wood coming at his head and his hand jerked away from her waist and to the table leg. He caught it as it was less than an inch away from him, and Lisa continued to try to press it towards him like it was a knife.

"Is your first instinct always going to be to hit me?" Jackson muttered as he tried to push it away.

"You bastard," Lisa hissed murderously back. "Get out of my hotel, go kill someone somewhere else."

Surprise flickered in Jackson's eyes and he wrenched the leg from Lisa's grip and threw it over her shoulder. She made to turn and run from him and he darted around in front of her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back to the wall behind her.

"I was trapped in a hotel room for who knows how long, that's what's wrong with me!" Lisa felt a tremor pass through her at the warm weight of Jackson's hands on her shoulders. A little hopeful voice in the back of her mind whispered, _What is going on? He almost sounds like this isn't his doing…_ And Lisa realized bitterly that she really did want to see Jackson again, that it was a bad idea to be near him, that she could never move on, because a big part of her would always hope that she had misunderstood and he really loved her.

And so she stood stiffly and stared somewhere over Jackson's shoulder. "It's not my fault," Jackson snapped. He had been so relieved to see Lisa, to just touch her, and now it seemed as though she would rather be anywhere but near him.

"Yeah, right," Lisa muttered.

"Would you please tell me _what_ your problem is?" And then Jackson's brain finally made the connection. "Lisa, you don't think I left on purpose, do you?"

Her eyes snapped to his. She opened and closed her mouth and turned her face away again.

"Okay…" Jackson said, looking around the room. "Okay… I—Shit; I don't think I've got time to tell you everything." His eyes darted around the room and he pulled a gun from his back pocket and walked over to the couch by the window.

"Of course you don't," Lisa said sarcastically.

"Lisa…"

Jackson turned around. He strode back over to her and grabbed her shoulders. She watched his head tilt towards her, and hope froze her to the spot, and he kissed her. "My company…" he murmured in between kisses, "took me back… he's gonna…" he pressed his lips to her eyelids and cheekbones, "…kill me if… don't take out O'Hannessy…" Jackson trailed his lips down Lisa's neck. She smelled so good, and her hands were up pressed against his back… "…He's the… one… who trapped you in here…" Jackson's mouth found her lips again and he sighed. "I love you!" he whispered fiercely.

And then the hotel room door was wrenched open. "Well, isn't this cute," Sev spat, his left eye and cheekbone a purplish color. Jackson leapt back and pulled the two guns from his pockets. Sev held an odd square device in his hands and he pressed a button in the middle of it, cocking his head and smiling. Then he slammed the door. Jackson's eyes widened and he threw the gun that held the remote as hard as he could towards the window above the couch. The window shattered and Jackson grabbed Lisa's arm and pulled her towards the door. He wrestled with the locked doorknob.

"DAMN!"

Lisa could only guess at what was going on. Luckily, she guessed correctly. She ran over to where the table leg lay and grabbed it and ran back to the door. "Watch out!" She slammed the table leg against the lock panel and heard a distinct click. It figured. She wrenched the door open and flew out into the hall just as Sev stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

Jackson reached out and grabbed Lisa's arm and she felt herself being thrown forwards as the room behind her exploded. The wind was knocked out of her and her elbows burned along the carpet. Jackson roughly wrapped his arm around her head. Plaster flew at them and Lisa screamed before she knew what she was doing, visions of herself dead and buried in wreckage overwhelming her.

Finally the shaking stopped and Lisa felt the arm covering her head slowly move away. She heard screams and shouts and then voices down the hallway, "Come on, get him out of here!" There were more shouts and Lisa sat up to dimly see O'Hannessy rushed from his room and surrounded by security guards. Jackson was already sitting up beside her, blinking in the haze of dust that surrounded them and brushing dust off his shirt and hair. He stood and pulled the other gun from his waistband and helped Lisa to her feet just as a tall, bald man came wandering down the hall. Jackson shoved Lisa behind him and cocked the gun.

Jones looked up, seemingly not at all concerned. "Were you two out in the hall during that explosion?" He asked, a note of awe in his voice.

"What do you want?" Jackson asked impatiently. Lisa poked him in the back.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "That's the guy from the hospital you were in!"

Temporarily distracted, Jackson hissed back, "How do you know that?" His eyes flicked back to Jones, who was now in the process of looking through the frame of the wall that used to separate Room 613 from the hallway.

"I… visited you."

"Why?" Jackson remembered vaguely that Jones had actually told him that Lisa had come. In fact that was the reason he had started that notebook in the first place. Come to think of it, that information had started this whole thing.

"The hospital accidentally sent an announcement to the paper that you had died. I was the first one to find out that it wasn't true."

"I sent that," Jones interrupted dreamily. "O'Hannessy nearly killed me when he found out."

"_What?"_ Jackson asked incredulously. Lisa moved out from behind him.

Jones nodded. He scratched his head and looked like he was about to speak when another security guard appeared from around the corner. "Jones! Are they still--" He stopped at the sight of Lisa and Jackson. "Oh good. Okay, come on, he wants to talk to both of them."

"Who wants to talk to us?" Jackson asked cautiously, the gun still held stiffly in his hand.

"O'Hannessy," Jones answered matter-of-factly. "The hotel's in lockdown, no one can leave."

"Shit!" Jackson whirled around to Lisa. "Go with him," he muttered, checking the bullets in the gun. "Even if he's lying, he's a dumbshit and he won't do anything."

Lisa slowly nodded. "Okay… But you're not…?" Jackson just shook his head at her, his eyes unreadable and cold, and started towards the elevator. "Don't," Lisa stepped towards him. He turned again and looked at her, a little warmth creeping back into his gaze, and then he stepped forwards and gave her a quick hard kiss on the mouth. "We'll talk again," he grinned. And stepped into the elevator.

Lisa turned around and looked at Jones, who was now wandering around inside what was left of Room 613. In other words, basically nothing whole except for a floor and a partially tiled ceiling.

"Ummm…" she called to him. "I'm going downstairs…"

Jones nodded. "O'Hannessy's down there… Is there a coffee machine in the lobby?"

Lisa stopped and incredulously turned around. A _coffee_ machine? "Yes…?" she answered.

"Oh good." He nodded. "Alright, I'm coming with you."

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Jackson stepped from the elevator and to the door across the hall. He cocked the gun in his hand, the click echoing throughout the empty hallway. Everyone was either hiding in their rooms or in the lobby, complaining. His hand moved to quietly open the door when a click sounded in his ear. _Shit._ Jackson stared straight ahead, at the closed door in front of him.

"I must say I'm flattered," Sev said conversationally from behind him.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X--**

Lisa stepped out of the elevator, Jones at her heels. She saw Cynthia up by the entrance to the Conference room, talking to one of O'Hannessy's security guards, her face set in worried lines. Lisa ran up to her.

"Lisa! Oh thank God. Wait, I thought you had already gone home…?" Cynthia's eyes darted wildly around the crowded lobby and Lisa knew she really wasn't paying attention to her answer.

"Long story. Where's O'Hannessy at right now?"

"He's okay," Cynthia smiled weakly and nodded. "God, this is so horrible. The first VIP we finally get back here and a room explodes again…" The security guard standing next to her cleared his throat impatiently. Lisa recognized him as the one who had talked to Jones just minutes ago. "Sorry," Cynthia said quickly. "Okay, Adam here wants to talk to you and I've… got to go help at the desk." Cynthia darted off, shooting Lisa a questioning glance before she went. Lisa shrugged back.

The security guard motioned to Lisa and she followed him into the conference room, her mind in work mode. _Sort everything out. Be calm._

"Lisa Reisart!" A short, portly man sat in a chair by the table directly to her right. He stood up and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you! Keefe has told me some wonderful things about you!"

Lisa blinked. "Charles Keefe?"

"Yes, yes, good friend of mine. Please sit down." The Secretary of State gestured to a chair across from him. Lisa slowly sunk into it. "Now, where is that fool I sent to get you? And where is Jackson Rippner?"

"Oh my God," Lisa sunk back against the chair, fear finally hitting her. Jackson was insane! What if he was killed, trying to get that Sev Ronning…?

"Yes, I do know about him," O'Hannessy said, misinterpreting her reaction. "I'm the reason he stayed in that hospital without ever having a trial or jail time."

"What?" Lisa asked weakly.

"Alright, this is a long story," O'Hannessy sighed, placing his hands on top of his slightly large stomach. "I am good friends with Charles Keefe, have been for quite a while. Naturally I was concerned when I heard that he had been… targeted. Now--" O'Hannessy broke off suddenly. "I do wish that Jackson was here with you right now! Oh well.

"Alright, first of all, when I had heard that Charles had been targeted, I was interested in the company responsible. We both agreed that it seemed stupid to arrest one man who seemed mostly at fault when there was obviously a larger force behind him. And so I wanted to find out more, perhaps stop this _terrorist--_" He said the word with a shiver, "—company. So I hired Jones here—Jones! Get over here!—to pose as a… ahm… _traitor_ to our government, supposedly willing to pass information on to the company behind Keefe's attempted assassination. The whole idea was to get him to talk to Jackson while he was in the hospital, hence the fake doctor job, and worm his way into the company. Unfortunately, I think he may have forgotten that plan along the way." O'Hannessy sighed.

Lisa was listening now. This was ironically unbelievable. She had spent that entire month of her life thinking that everyone had moved on but her, that no one seemed to even notice that the Deputy of Homeland Security had nearly been assassinated. But here was proof that the Miami police simply didn't have better things to do, that instead operations had been taking place that she couldn't have even imagined.

"Anyways, so he found some way to worm his way into the company before he even started at that hospital job, I'm still not quite sure what happened," O'Hannessy continued. "But the plan worked—He was able to feed their plans to me, and we could effectively prevent whatever they were planning next. And then your Jackson Rippner came along, and killed off the head of the company, and that worked doubly in our favor. And I'm sure you've noticed Jones acts like such a moron that he would never be suspected."

O'Hannessy nodded at Lisa from across the table. She stared at him, shocked. "So… So then I'm assuming you knew they were planning to kill you?"

"Of course."

"Then why would you still come to this hotel?" Lisa asked incredulously.

"Well, I hoped to catch the company in the action, because you know I had Jones with me and he could go back and forth from me to them. But somehow the wrong room got blown up, and here we are!" He raised his hands in the air.

**--X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X**v**X-- **

"We're going up, my friend," Sev said quietly, his voice harsh in Jackson's ear. He felt the gun jab him in the back and started towards the elevator. The doors opened almost immediately due to the fact that no one was very eager to travel around the hotel right now. "To the roof. Press the button."

"Why?" Jackson spat.

"So I can watch to jump to your death, Jackson Rippner. I've never liked you and it will greatly please me."

"Sick bastard," Jackson muttered. He pressed the button and then brought his heel back slightly and onto Sev's toe. "Sorry." He quickly pressed one of the other buttons while Sev was distracted and deftly slid his hand towards Sev's pocket. A weapon, he needed some kind of weapon…

After what felt like five minutes, though, he began to get worried. The elevator was supposed to stop at the lower floors first. What the hell had he pressed? Finally, a faint ding sounded and the elevator stopped. Jackson unsheathed the knife he had pick-pocketed from Sev and let the leather cover fall quietly to the ground. The doors slid open. Jackson jabbed the knife as hard as he could into Sev's side and ran out of the elevator, a slightly delayed and surprised shot echoing behind him.

Fuck. They were in the ballroom. The room was huge, at least as big as a football field, and scattered throughout with tables. Jackson darted around to the far side of the room, behind one of the big pillars that graced it. His mind was now focused on one thing—Survival. And hate. Cold hate could keep him rational.

Two shots hit the ceiling above him from the middle of the room. "RIPPNER!" Sev roared, his voice curdling with fury. Jackson wished vaguely that he still had his gun. It wasn't really a fair fight, gun against knife.

"In all the time I've known you, had to work with you," Jackson heard Sev hiss as he headed towards the table at the opposite side of the room, "I've never liked you. Everything was so easy for you." Jackson grit his teeth and he saw Sev kick at one of the chairs next to the table out of the corner of his eye. _He thinks I'm under the tables!_ Dammit, this was going to be a game of hide and seek until someone else came into the room and saved his ass. _Shit!_ Jackson darted around the pillar and to the one next to it. He wiped the bloody knife on his pant leg. Maybe if he could just sneak up behind Sev…

"And then finally," Sev spat, limping slightly and pressing his hand to the wound in his side, "Finally, you got your ass kicked by a girl! And all the dumbasses that thought you were so great all assumed you were dead, what a pity. But I knew. I knew the great Jackson Rippner couldn't be dead. You know how I knew? Because that idiot Jones told me! He thought I was the boss!"

"Yeah," Jackson murmured. "That's because, as you just said, he's an idiot." Instantly he regretted saying anything as a shot whizzed past him, brushing his arm.

"You just didn't want to work anymore, wasn't that it?" Sev mocked, his voice growing louder, coming towards the pillars now. Jackson crouched down and shuffled over to the table a couple feet away.

"Well, it could've worked out better for me with you gone. I got your old job. But then the idiots finally realized you weren't dead. And you ruined everything for me. You, with your little fake-death, your fake death that killed so many of the people in _my_ company that had finally begun to respect me. Tell me, Rippner, how did you manage to take out all your enemies and keep all your friends?" He jerked forwards and shot at something he seemed to have mistaken for Jackson. "TELL ME!"

Jackson held the knife tighter in his hand and scuttled around to the table to his right. He was closer now; he could sneak up behind him… Sev staggered away and towards the next wide square pillar. _Damn!_

"And then you killed your boss. And I finally had the power to do whatever I wanted, but I was in charge of a group that hated me. All thanks to you. And do you know what I decided then, you bastard? I vowed that--" He broke off and coughed, and Jackson watched a bit of red come out of his mouth. "I vowed that I would kill you. You made it only too easy. I could threaten you with your little girlfriend, and for the final blow, you would die right at her hotel, so she could watch you. It only worked out too perfectly that O'Hannessy was coming at the same time. It gave me a perfect excuse."

Jackson felt the hate rise and bubble in him, threatening to overwhelm him. It was beginning to overcome rational thought. Still crouched, Jackson shuffled around to a different table. He was directly behind Sev now. Jackson leapt up, his knife held tightly in his hand. Sev whirled around, the gun pointed directly at Jackson's chest and less than three feet away. Jackson stopped, the hand holding the knife frozen.

"Ah, here you are." Sev coughed again and Jackson watched his stomach heave. Blood dribbled from the hole in his side. Sev took a deep breath. "Any last words, Jackson Rippner?"

Jackson pretended to consider. "Umm… Go to hell?" He smirked and heard the gun cock. An odd sense of denial was coming over him and mixing with his hate, and he kept thinking, _This isn't happening. I will not be shot._ "Ooh, wait, I have something else," Jackson tapped his chin sarcastically.

"You'll never win. You've destroyed your own company. All the power you wanted is gone and killing me won't give you it. So go on!" Jackson was feeling dizzy. He pulled open the top buttons of his shirt. "Go on, kill me!"

Jackson waited for pain to come. He was determined to keep his eyes on Sev and not look away, and what he saw next he thought to be a product of his imagination. Sev Ronning looked at the gun in his hands, and slowly, he brought it to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the ballroom and Jackson waited for pain. And then, Sev fell, almost in slow motion, to the carpet, and Jackson realized that he really hadn't been seeing things. He looked up at the sound of a door opening and security guards flooded into the room, lead by Lisa. She ran to him and he held her wonderingly against him, his nose buried in her hair.

Lisa pulled away and tried to look over his shoulder, but Jackson turned and blocked her view. "Don't look," he said, disgusted. "You don't want to look."

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Alright! Please tell me what you think, I will post an Epilogue soon (and I really mean it this time). If you think I need to fix anything with this chapter, or anything, just please tell me! I can't thank everyone who read this fic and reviewed enough! 


	13. Epilogue

**Thank you for the reviews! Here it is!**

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Epilogue **

Jackson and Lisa came back down the elevator to find an even more chaotic lobby. It seemed that the entire floor beneath the ballroom had rushed madly downstairs and away from the sound of gunshots. Lisa was forced to rush off to help Cynthia, security was herded up to the ballroom and the remains of room 613, and Jackson found himself being led into the Conference room.

O'Hannessy stepped up to him and shook his hand. Jackson stared at him in a bewildered way.

"Hello, Jackson Rippner. I would like to personally thank you for _not_ blowing up my room."

"You're welcome…?" Jackson waited to be told he was going to be arrested, taken to court, something equally wonderful. Instead O'Hannessy sat down at one of the tables and proceeded to tell Jackson exactly what he had already told Lisa. When he had finished, Jackson simply stared at him. And then he said bitterly, "Well, there's no company behind me now. Feel free to arrest me."

O'Hannessy laughed. "Well, Mr. Rippner--"

"It's Montgomery."

"Mr. Montgomery, I think that I may have a difficult time liking you after what you've done, but considering that there _is_ no company behind you, and you are fairly responsible for that fact, I think I can find it in myself to… ahm… let you go. Besides, I rather like Miss Reisart."

Jackson blinked, relief wavering slightly to confusion. "What?"

O'Hannessy just winked at him.

Lisa slumped against the reception desk. Cynthia sent her a weary look. "Do you think that's finally the last of them?" she managed to laugh.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "My God, I think we made it."

Cynthia laughed and gave her a high five. "Oh, I completely forgot to tell you this! This guy came in earlier and he was looking for you, I didn't get his name but—Oh wait, I think that's him right there...!"

Lisa turned and smiled at her, a happy, joyful smile that Cynthia hadn't remembered seeing in the longest amount of time, and she said, "That's Jackson." Cynthia's mouth dropped open in theatrical shock, and Lisa stepped out from behind the desk. "I think I'm gonna go home now, Cynthia."

"You had better tell me _everything_ later," Cynthia hissed at her as she walked away. Lisa turned around and threw one last happy look at her before Jackson's arm wrapped around her waist and they walked out of the Luxe Atlantic. They just reached Lisa's car when she stopped.

"I don't have my keys!" Lisa cried. "I don't even have my purse! That Sev guy took them!"

Jackson just looked at her. And then he laughed, and pulled her away from the car. "It's three a.m. I'm sure the police will find your purse in his room somewhere, but not anytime soon…" He pulled her after him and towards the main road by the hotel. "Taxi!" He waved his hand in the air as a cab appeared in the distance.

Lisa and Jackson stepped into the cab, she directed it to her house, and then, nearly asleep, she stumbled up the front steps. "I wish I had my keys," she grumbled, and Jackson laughed. She bent and shuffled around under the mat for a moment before finding the spare key. Once inside, Lisa slumped against Jackson and he wrapped a sleepy arm around her shoulders.

"Is it finally over?" she asked tiredly.

"I think it is," he said. And then his eyes twinkled in the dark of the house. "Leese, you're not going to make me sleep on the couch, are you?"

"Jackson… I'm too tired."

"I'm not."

And one very long kiss later, Lisa realized that she really wasn't _that_ tired…

**The End

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Alright, so that is it! Please please tell me if I left anything out, or you didn't like the ending, or you're confused... (I'm so worried I missed something!) Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, I appreciated them so much.

--star--


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